Novels2Search
Miss Liminal
Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mandy sat on a nearby counter, eyeing the scene before her with genuine amusement. On the ground was a large specimen of strength-based mutation. His eyes were hollow and distant, body yet lying in a pool of his own stomach acids, previous meals, and copious amounts of far worse substances that she’d progressively added to make his life a varitable living nightmare… Funny enough, the final straw seemed to be when she’d started adding fish guts to the mix, filling his underwear and mouth with the slimy, slippery and foul things until he’d abruptly stopped, whimpering that he was giving up.

Naturally, the process had only transpired over a comparative few minutes for himself, while it had been entire hours for Mandy, who’d spent no inconsiderable amount of time wandering around her private realm and looking for the very worst things she could find. And, so far as effectiveness went, this one was going down in history as an unfortunate but, nevertheless, extremely useful gambit that even made herself squirm just thinking about it.

She’d utterly broken the man, and all she’d used was the evident powers of gross and a few random rags she’d found lying around… Thankfully, High-rise’s public facilities had allowed her to constantly keep washing her hands after affixing whatever she’d found onto the mutant’s person. However, sometimes, soap didn't feel like it was enough to wash out the stain of nasty that she’d been holding… Mandy wasn't sure if she’d ever be reintroducing this little ploy at any point in the near future… at least, not until she found some extra-thick rubber gloves… She wasn't normally that grossed out by regular old poop and animal guts, but… something about the way the brawler had broken down into tears and sobs while begging for her to stop had—changed things about it all in a way she couldn't quite describe…

“Was what I did against the geniva convention?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Will replied, himself leaning against the very same counter that she was sitting on. “Im fairly certain that shit counts as a biological weapon, at least, the way you used it…”

Neither of them were smiling now. With Will even looking a bit haunted himself… the large man seeming to just stare at something in the distance while they waited for—somebody in charge to arrive. He’d already dragged all the bodies he could find, tossing them into a nearby pile with Jason laid out on his own and Gregor silent and unmoving on the ground. Will had applied basic care for the now paralyzed teenager who was, thus far, still unconscious. While the Texan mercenary just lay where he’d seemingly given up on life, unresponsive to commands or questions that came his way…

Strangely, nobody actually came to discover or intervene in the short-lived conflict until Mandy spotted a runner darting through the streets, the young woman seeming to pause, the afterimage of her jog following to catch up with her before, faster than she’d been going, she manifested before Will and herself, staring at the sight before her with wide, horrified eyes…

“Gregor and his gang tried to kill a traveller visiting High-rise.” Will began, not bothering to need to be asked the obvious question while pointing first to Mandy and then at the bodies. “You can tell Captain Smith that all but Gregor caught themselves a dirt nap. And they're the ones that started discharging guns in the street, by the way. Make sure he knows that part.”

The girl nodded, spared one final glance for the carnage, then disappeared in a gust of displaced air, not creating the pop that the truly fast speedsters could manage but couldn't be far off… From there, it only seemed to take a handful of moments before the street was filled with people wearing full riot armour, the uniform of High-rises peacekeepers, all of which locked down the surrounding area as though they were real police officers. A short man with thinning grey hair marching up to them with anger, twitching his bushy mustache.

“You're fucked!” He shouted, more at Will than herself, tiny globules of spittle flying from his lips as his insensate fury seemed to merely wind itself up. “All of you! Fucked! There’s one rule in High-rise you don't cross, and that’s shooting guns in here!”

“To be fair—”

“Nope, save it! I don't give a single shit who started it! I'm ending it!”

“Yeah… that’s already over and done with.” Will sighed, shifting to his full height and crossing his arms, a gesture that didn't seem to even phase the shorter man.

“Aye? You think so, do ya? Well, if It was ended, then why the hell did more than half the settlement flood into the tower? Huh? I’ve got hundreds of people freaking out and demanding answers! The council fucking screaming at me to find some mysterious stranger, fucking morons shooting each other in the street! Explain to me how any of this is over?”

“The… fighting?”

“Oh, I promise it won't be unless you sit the fuck back down boy.” The man growled, the air seeming to chill by several degrees as ice formed all along the shorter man’s face, breath leaving a foggy trail in the air.

“Alright! No need to get all pissy about it!” Will bemoned, returning to his spot beside Amanda as the air—halted its thermal trajectory.

The old officer spat, pulling a thick wad through his nose before nodding his approval at Will’s willingness to back down, his eyes then roving over to the masked oddity who caused his face to twitch. “No fucking surprise there… Same description right on the nose… Right! William. If you don't give me a reason why I shouldn't haul you're ass to jail for a few nights, speak it now or forever hold you peace.”

“I didn't fire any guns! Or use my Kinesis!” He pointed out, still sounding quite calm. “And I was protecting the one who the council really wants to speak with?”

“Don't give a rat’s fart what the council wants. This is my fucking settlement! And guns or not, you were fighting in it!”

“Is that really how you feel?” A cultured and cool voice called out; Mandy immediately recognizing it's owner as Isabella, her face projected on a hologram which flew over the buildings while clearly piloting some kind of—brainiac drone.

“Of course you’d hear that.” Captain Smith growled, deflating a fraction as his wrinkled eyes rolled with exasperation. “Can't be worked up about something for a fucking minute before you manifest out of gloom like god’s damned Jerry in the jungle!”

“So, then I can assume you're comment about High-rise belonging to yourself was—”

“A momentary slip of the tongue and a metaphor regardless.”

The face staring at the old guardsman nodded in her virtual form, turning a moment later without the machine moving to face Amanda and William both, her eyes scrutinizing them for several long moments before she simply let out a weary sigh… “Will, please escort Subliminal back to the tenth floor. I think we’ve all been waiting long enough to meet with her at this point…”

“Sort of the wrong person to ask?” Will chuckled, gesturing with his head to Amanda, who, yeah, if she’d wanted to, could perceive the comment to be something of an order; however, she understood that tensions were riding high.

“It's fine, I’ll come back. Not like I can do much more shopping at this point…”

“I’ll umm… need the young woman's information to—properly record this incident… And, an understanding of what exactly happened to… him…”

All present looked to Gregor, who was watching the proceedings but, not really present… his body shaking as he noticed Mandy’s mask move in his direction and causing him to quickly turn away like a frightened toddler.

“He ugh… had a mental breakdown of sorts…” Will supplied… And also, Jasons got a bullet in his spine and a lot of other injuries… He’ll need medical attention—but, he was part of the team that tried to kill Subliminal.

Surprisingly, Isabella just seemed to nod. Her expression grave as she did so but accepting nevertheless. It made Mandy wonder how much goodwill there was to still go around. After all, she’d—caused a surprising amount of problems for the settlement, and it hadn't even yet been a full day! It wasn't all her fault, of course, but with so many dead piling up around her, not to mention two separate fights, she imagined that whatever grace she’f started out with was—possibly, disappearing fast… Not that she was terribly concerned by the prospect, but neither was she exactly keen on sticking around places where she wasn't wanted.

The following negotiations went fairly smoothly. With the representatives of High-rise laying out their desires and wants while Mandy countered with what she was willing to actually do. Which wasn't much. Isabella had, apparently, created something of a Christmas wishlist that she wanted to point Mandy towards and let her loose on like an angry rottweiler being teased by chipmunks. Everything from something so small as clear out a gas station two blocks away to the really big stuff that she’d actually agreed to, wherein the tower wanted her to butcher a truly astronomical quantity of undead. The kicker, however, was that Mandy wasn't coming cheap. Not that she was asking for a comparative fortune against what she was doing, but more that her requests had several people in the room on edge.

“High-yield explosive tip ammunition for nine-millimetre, forty-five ACP… and, again in fifty calibre to fit a desert eagle… The same distribution only, with electromagnetic capabilities… Dragon rounds as well… and… you also want a—lightsaber…”

“Or, lightsaber adjacent,” Mandy corrected, earning herself a slight—clearing of councilman Brian’s throat as he nodded, carrying on.

“Or, lightsaber adjacent weapon… And in exchange, you will finish killing the remaining ghouls at Green International, while forgoing any and all possible assets you find within. Afterwards, you will work with a team of our salvagers who will join you on your mission to Quonset, wherein you agree to forgo the rights to any heavy armaments, including but not limited by, explosives, heavy machine guns, long rifles, medical supplies—howitzers… etcetera…”

“Baring sidearms.” Mandy, ensured to amend, which caused the man across from her to nod with slow agreement.

“Baring any sidearms and the ammunition for such. Which, beyond what our science team will be working on for you, is the extent of you're interests, excluding the three helicopters and all associated parts that pertain to you're other deal with the eastern settlements. Is all that making sense to everyone?”

“Can we—even make lightsabers?” A young and quite pretty woman asked, her face possessing of itself an almost perpetual sneer, and one that had only seemed to get worse as news of Gregor and his goons had reached her ears.

“I’ve got no idea…” Peter whispered eyes closed as he held his head in both palms, clearly dismayed. “I don't even know how much material we’ll need to burn through to make any of what she wants! Honestly! Most of us have been more concerned about getting this place towards a semblance of modernity and not kicking off a damned arms race but… Do we have a choice?”

“There is always a choice,” Brian commented, fingers steepled after placing the paper they’d used to sum up their agreement off to the side. “And in this case, that choice gives us access to all of the Warwick airport. Not just the planes but all of it. All the computers, all the screens, the metal, food, along with countless bags of luggage… hell… all the damned glass! It's a genuine quarry, only instead of salt or marble, were going to be pulling out tech and refined materials that have all but disappeared everywhere else!”

“It's going to cause a feeding frenzy when and if the other factions hear about it…” Isabella nodded, voice soft as she did so.

“Which means that an arms race might not be the worst scenario given that we have the largest population of Brainiacs by a considerable margin. We’ll need more people willing to fight. More people armed with weapons that can deter the other factions. Strom, for instance, has always been quoted as saying he doesn't care that we're so close to Green because nobody can get in there to salvage it… But, when he learns that it's free game…”

“It's not free game,” Isabella stated, glaring at Brian, who merely scoffed.

“Tell them that. We’ll have Strom trying to push back into our territory quite quickly to see if he can get himself a slice of our pie. And Issac? Even if he himself doesn't care, his people will see it as an easy way to make a quick profit by stripping anything they can get their grubby fingers on like the blighted goblins they are!. Either way, we’ll be fighting to keep control of the place and now, we're down ten of our best fighters. No!” Brian interrupted, raising his palm as Isabella made to speak, quieting her protest before it even began. “Don't try and reason that Gregor and his goons weren't an issue because they were, I’m not arguing that. They were scum, but scum that we needed to fill out our ranks. Without them, we’re a lot more vulnerable than anyone would like. And to be in such a state and fight a war over the airport… Look, I know how this opportunity looks too good to pass up but, what if it's also too good to be true? What if we find ourselves surrounded with the barbarians at the gate? All because we tried to overreach while weakened?”

“He’s—really not wrong…” Peter admitted, meeting the other man’s hard eyes before speaking up louder. “If we clear out the rest of the Ghouls, that starts a timer on all of this. If one already hasn't been set in motion already. Everyone has flyers who are constantly scouting the city with binoculars, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if someone already noticed all the bodies over there.”

“Then all the more reason to get in and take everything before the others get there,” Megan stated, looking at Brian and Peter like they were imbeciles. “We don't need everything obviously, just the important stuff! The big ticket items! We're closer, we can move quicker!”

“Stripping what we want from the airport isn't as simple as—unplugging a cell phone!” Peter exclaimed, laughing with incredulity. It could take months to properly do it! And even then, if we send people who have no idea what their about, it's gonna be chaos! We’ll wind up with more stuff that's broken than usable!”

“So then… we find a partner.” Megan slowly offered, thoughts seeming to spin in her head. “We give up some of what's inside and cut a deal with either Strom or Mason. If they know they wont have to fight for it, we can double the workforce, the people defending it, everything.”

“At the likely cost of half of what’s in there,” Isabella murmured, but didn't immediately strike down the idea… her voice more thoughtful as she looked to the younger woman curiously. “It's—not terrible… I mean, half of the airport is better than none of it… or, starting a war where everyone else might just jump in to dogpile us…”

“Mason would never go for it… He’s reasonable about many things, but when it comes to us, he loses all semblance of civility and common sense…”

“Issac wouldn't be worth approaching either…” Brain added with a shake of his head. “But Strom? I mean, we're not enemies but neither have we ever been on what I’d call good terms… God, he took Peter’s fucking arm off last time they fought!”

“More—burnt off, in all honestly…” The man in question muttered, his robotic fingers clacking as he touched each one to his thumb. “But, you know me… I might not like the man or what he’s doing, but if working with him means our community thrives then…

“We could cut him in on the Quonset deal,” Isabella added, albeit with some hesitation as those around her startled at her words. “It would go a long way to better relations… And, if we work something out with him, maybe once Mason leaves, we can work on a plan to divide up the city. We take the east, and he takes the west… Nobody likes the raiders, and we all know they clash with Strom as much as they do with us or Mason’s people… We offer to split what we recover from Quonset. Dangle all those heavy transports that his people can use with their inland expeditions. He might not like the thought of us having so much firepower right on his doorstep, but we’d be in a cold war with each other, neither side wanting to press the other… And why would we? We’d have all of Rhode Island to expand operations into while he could keep pushing out towards Massachusetts and Connecticut like he already is. Nobody really cares about Providence beyond the fact were all here and that nobody really has better alternatives…”

“Military ordinance would make both our factions see large populations of ghouls as little more than something to run a tank over.” Brian mused, seeming to almost warm to the idea. “And, if Strom is interested in dividing the lines like that… maybe it's worth extending the olive branch…”

“We could also try to lead all the undead into the city proper,” Mandy spoke up, earning her somewhat—queasy looks all around, save for Isabella and Megan, both of which seemed to consider the idea for what it was. “You know, create a natural undead barrier?”

“I’d—rather we try to work towards diplomacy and future good relations than pissing on the whole city…” Brian commented dryly, though nodded at Mandy and acknowledged her idea for what it was.

“How soon can we get something official drafted up and sent to Strom and his people? And, would he even listen?”

“He’d be a lot keener to do so if we take pictures of what’s already done.” Isabella stated, her arms crossing over her stomach, “And as to how quick… well, we do have a time limit… Subliminal has already expressed she has her—own deadline to work with. Which is now under five days.”

“And that’s five days to get to the airfield or?”

“Five days to get to the helicopters.” Mandy corrected curtly.”

“Doesn't leave a lot of time…” Megan muttered sourly. “There’s no way you can extend that timeframe? If we had two weeks—”

“Burtrom already assured me they’d be leaving in five days. Six, and they will have abandoned the plan altogether.”

“Then who cares if they decide to leave? I say we just let them!”

“I care,” Mandy replied, meeting the dolled-up councillor who snickered with disbelief.

“You're willing to throw away our deal with you, from which you stand to gain significantly more, just because you met Mason’s people before us?”

“Pretty much.”

“Everyone has their reasons for doing things,” Brian stated, turning to meet his counterpart's eye. “Subliminal does not owe us anything. And she’s not part of our community, not unless she wants to be.” He added, glancing at her momentarily before continuing. “This all rides on her ability to do as she says. Without her, this is all a wasted conversation and we may as well go back to the issues we were dealing with prior to her arrival.”

“Minus all the people she killed.”

“Minus all the people who tried to kill her first.” Isabella corrected sternly and in doing so, earning herself a scowl from the younger woman. “You can argue that she does owe us all you want, Megan, but I'm fairly sure that we lack the ability to really impart any assumed justice you're imagining.”

“I’ve been referred to as an environmental hazard by people who know me.” Mandy offered cheerily. “And to date, nobody’s managed to prove them wrong!”

“Environmental hazard?”

“It's a video game term…” Peter groaned, looking at Brian and his raised eyebrows. “It means she’s more like a hurricane than an army.”

“And how does that at all make sense?”

“Because you can't fight the hurricane. You can prepare for it, plan various ways to minimize collateral damage, and warn people away from it. But it's not something you can actually, tangibly beat. Only survive.”

“That’s—quite the bold statement to make…” Brian noted, glancing at the woman in question, who shrugged at him.

“I kind of like the comparison! Plus, it's sort of true. I mean, eventually, if nobodys bothering me, I tend to just stop killing those who want me dead and wander off, you know, leave all on my own.”

“Be that as it may.” the man continued softly. “Megan is not wrong either. Your timeline does not allow for very much wiggle room to plan things. Is there—no way to work something out?”

“Try calling this Mason fellow?” She suggested, shrugging when nobody in the room seemed to like her idea. “I mean, I don't know what to tell you. Either you lot can make it happen, or you can't!”

“But, that’s not really fair. Besides,” Megan added a moment later, condescension lacing her voice, “Without us, you don't get anything from our scientists.”

“Not a huge issue, honestly.”

“Yeah, you can say that all you want, but nobody really believes it.”

“Believe exactly as you want to believe.” Mandy proclaimed with a lazy inflection, leaning back in her chair with both arms behind her head. “Eventually, I’ll find other people willing to make that stuff. It’s not like it's more than something to help pass the time anyway… you're not special. Not to me, that is.”

“We are the leaders of a faction of over three hundred people! We are due the proper respect! Do you have any idea how much we work to keep this place going?”

“And I’ve shot the leaders of communities three times you're size. You think you're the only place like this out there? I mean, really? There’s three other communities in this city alone! All of them bigger than yours!”

“Megan.” Brian intoned tersely, glaring at the sneering councillor to garner her attention. “You're not helping.”

“I was elected for the people, by the people. And, so far, I'm left wondering why it's in the people's best interest to deal with a psychotic and inflexible murderer who wants more ways to hurt people. I see no reason to deal with this bitch when we could just cut her from the plan and talk with Strom directly. Work together to do what is proposed at our own pace and how we want to do it!”

“Sure, go ahead.” Mandy chuckled, “But come near me without a deal while I'm at Quonset, and I’ll slaughter anyone who threatens what I'm there for. And, if Burtrom decides he wants everything there and asks me to help him secure it for his people, then that’s exactly what I’ll probably do.”

“Then we have no reason to let you leave this building.” Megan whispered, her eyes starting to glow like living stars.”

“Megan!” Isabella roared, the other woman merely glancing at her before settling down, taking in a deep breath as she did so.

“No reason to let you leave this building, theoretically.” She instead proposed, not looking in the least bit chastised. Her mouth lifting to get one last retort in, and—Mandy merely smirked! When next the woman likely spoke, she was already back on the road, outside High-rise’s gates and holding down on the transmit button, which activated the radio she’d left behind on the table. She’d—stolen it anyway from one of the guards, so it didn't grate on her that she’d be expending a perfectly good handheld. Mandy managing it all within a single span of frozen time; thus, to them, it would seem like a single instant had passed.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Hey guys! This is Subliminal!” She called out, not bothering to wait for a reply as likely nobody had yet figured out what was going on. “Im already outside you're gates, waving to the guards! Go ahead and ask them about it when you feel like it, but anyway! I wasn't really liking the conversation, so I decided to just leave… I go my way, you go yours! Best of luck with everything, and smell ya later!”

She released the transmit button and stopped waving at the guards who were confusedly waving right back. And, just as she said, she started heading out. Well, first, she’d need to go drag all the hardware she’d found and revisit the oldtimer… Or—maybe she should do that afterwards… The settlement probably still hadn't settled down since the fight outside… If she took the recoilless rifle, then she could probably just sit on some building and blast the everloving shit out of Quonset for a few of her hours to thin the ranks of the undead. It wouldn't be as interesting without the threat of all the ghouls constantly trying to close it, but hey, she’d work with what she had.

Mandy got a surprising distance back to where she’d stashed all her goodies before the radio she was still holding crackled for several long seconds before anyone actually said anything. “...We want to take the deal.” Brian stated, his tone calm and collected as ever.

“Nope,” Mandy replied once she was sure the airwave was clear to speak. “I don't much like being threatened. Be glad I didn't decide to scramble the angry girl’s brain with a bullet and take the win for what it is.”

Another silence. “You say no. Yet you're still willing to communicate with us… that makes me think things aren't quite so—black and white…”

“Mostly because I had a running bet with myself. I owe two slim jims to the winner. I honestly thought that you’d all call sooner. So, my other self is going to be snacking in luxury tonight!”

“Two lightsabers,” Isabella spoke up, clearly taking the handset away from her counterpart.

“Throw in hover boots, a plasma gun, a lore-accurate personal shield from Dune and… mmmm, forget about the second lightsaber and add in a picture of Megan doing a handstand while picking her nose.”

“Agreed.”

“Not agreed!” She heard several voices call out, one of which was Megan, the other sounding like Peter.

“Agreed.” Isabella reiterated, this time with little else but the shouts of those she’d evidently left behind barely passing over the speaker. “How soon can you start clearing out the Airfield in Warwick?”

“How soon can you start forking over the toys I asked for?”

“As soon as we possibly can.”

“Then that’s you're answer!” Mandy sang with delighted schadenfroider. “You get me something from my list to start with in good faith, then I’ll do my best to do the same!”

Several hours later, and several more kilometres across the city, An aging man of late middling years sat at the same desk he had for the past ten, flipping through the various reports neatly stacked into a pile at the head of his desk. His flinty grey eyes flitting across the hand-written note scrawled quickly on a sheet of lined paper, the slight crinkle of crow's feet deepening ever so imperceptibly as he continued to read. Another skirmish between one of his convoys coming back from Greenville and a roaming band of supposed pirates that had taken to settling—somewhere in the area… preying, or at least, trying to, on his forces as they scoured the countryside and suburbs of the city… No casualties on their end; however, one of the trucks had its rear tires melted, and all the goods in its bed incinerated by a pyro they’d, at the very least, successfully put down…

Archibald wanted to sigh… he wanted to rub at his temples, to curse, to growl and grumble and complain… Yet, one glance at his adjuncts who shared the large office space with him prevented any such display of emotion that was—unnecessary… He instead placed the report in the basket that would see it, and all the others like it imputed into the computer system and professionally rewritten and stored by his—scribes… He spared himself a brief glance to the ceiling, not, for the first time, pondering if going along with the whole Roman theme that had, somewhat organically emerged, had been the ideal—fit… It certainly had a number of appreciative crossovers to the situation and their rapidly growing populous, but it had always felt so—adolescent… Like playing at war as children… Still, it wasn't like he’d ever really come up with an alternative that had ignited the fire of passion and morale as Romanism had so… thinking about it was simply a waste of time…

He reached for the next in the sizable stack before him, his eyes drifting to one of his aids who got up, headed over, nodded to him and placed a familiar lined sheet of paper in the standing racks of folders that were his responsibility to get through. Just as they weeded through the multitude of drivel that inevitably poured towards the administrative branch of his ‘empire,’ he was required to actually read through what was deemed important enough for him to know. This, quite honestly, took up the majority of his days as of late. And even after adding a new tier of adjuncts to screen even more of the daily chaos and delegating issues towards an ever-expanding staff of management, things still never seemed to actually clear from his desk.

This next report detailed yet more conflict with the very same pirates. More fighting, more killing. This time, on both sides. However, the deceased legionnaire was classified as a Private. The initial and lowest rank of his soldiers that were reserved for those lacking any discernable mutation or worth. Not useful beyond the man’s ability to hold a rifle, thus, not a significant loss… Had he been earmarked as a potential addition for a commissioned position, then Archibald might have been slightly annoyed. Finding good people proved even more difficult at the end of the world, than it had when there were billions of humans all piled up next to each other. Still, a loss of manpower was still a loss of manpower. And though the report stated that his forces had slain several of the aggressors, it was not a positive ending so far as he was concerned.

Surprisingly, given how many people were estimated to have perished, there, for whatever reason, seemed to be an abundance of them to give him headaches wherever he chose to look. It was difficult enough trying to hold society together by strangling it and heaving it off its feet so it couldn't run away, without, of course, all the fucking people trying to send them completely back to the stone ages!

Once more, Archibald placed the report in the keep pile. Which, in truth, existed merely in his own head as any reports he didn't wish to keep were summarily burnt to a crisp over his waste basket. Another report. Another fight. But it wasn't a surprise because, at this point, the vast majority of what he directly dealt with could be categorized solely as diplomatic relations. It just so happened that fighting between his people and other communities was something he deemed to be part of ‘diplomatic relations.’

It was growing late when he finally decided to lift himself from his desk, some of those nearby glancing at him for only a moment before carrying on with their duties. Archibald taking a moment to fix the fit of his sweater and tie, adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt, and resettle his glasses back on his face. Then, he departed from the office, striding down the old and now weathered college corridor for a much-needed break of fresh air. Hygiene was among the issues he had his brainiacs working on. But it was slow going… Sadly, there weren't many of their sort around. And those he did have were, currently, working under a sort of duress. It made them compliant but not exactly efficient. But there was only so much abuse a horse would take before it either bucked its rider or simply refused to move. There was a fine line between slavery and the illusion of free choice. A line that he’d worked very hard to maintain, within reason, but it was a ponderous pace that such things moved at.

Archibald rose into the air once he got outside, leaving his escort behind, who did their best to follow him on foot as he lifted higher and higher, hands clasped behind his back. Eyes casting over the stretching twilight that was a dimming the landscape. Work to expand the ever-growing wall that kept shifting in perimeter was, likewise, a meandering process. Yet, every time he came up here, he swore he could still see the relatively diminutive perimeter they’d begun with… Housing had also boomed as of late. His geomancers ever hard at work whilst constructing the countless hovels that sprung up in organized lines in accordance with his city planner's designs. He also had an alternate plan in the works, should his supposed ‘scientists’ fail to produce results with the water situation. An outpost at the Scituate reservoir tasked with trying to find a way to restore the city's plumbing services, if not for all, then at least for his region of operation.

Neither had yet netted very many results. However, for the time being, an abundance of sanitary products looted from large box stores were tiding people over. Wet wipes, rubbing alcohol, toilet paper and garbage bags... It wasn't a lasting solution, but a workable bandaid for the time being that was in no danger of being taxed to it's limits. He wasn't sure what man or woman had invented the idea of the localized distribution center, but their legacy was unquestionably the backbone of his efforts to keep civilization, or what remnant remains still existed, whole.

It was a new world out there. A bizarre one, to be sure… Yet, one where fortunate birth and genetics still proved to hold as bastions of reality. The strong were given more. The weak, less. Those who he found useful found their way into power. Those who were not worked at the threat of the lash to keep his rumbing machine grinding ever forward. It was—just an aspect of life that one could do nothing about. Yes, had he the ability to give every man a castle, each woman enough diamonds that they sparkled like moonlight, and every child the education, opportunities and parents that they deserted, he would. Unfortunately, such fantasies were little more than flighty lies… nice little dreams to think about whilst trying to pull one's mind away from more gutterous realities.

One day, once he or his successors managed to return part of the world to a semblance of greatness, those without would, once more, be allowed to have. However, that was a long, long way’s away from where they stood. And until then, everyone would be required to help push his ambitions forwards, weather they wanted to or not. There was no question that his work was the single most important that a man could undertake. Not unique by any stretch of the imagination, but necessary to the extreme.

He was just about to contemplate telling one of his guards to go fetch his pipe so he might spend a handful of his scarcely available free moments in the day to enjoy a short smoke when a form registered in his periphery, a blur shooting inside his headquarters before shooting right back out again. Already gone within the span of heartbeats, but… There was only one woman who was assigned the title of Mercury, and she only delivered correspondence deemed of the highest priority.

Slowly, Archibald returned to the earth. Contemplative as to the reason why his lead general, Ares, was sending his personal messenger to him rather than having her run her usual gambit between units too far away for short-wave radio. And, whatever it was, it likely wasn't going to let him sleep this night…

When Archibald was back in his leather seat, the cushions creaking as he lowered himself, there was a single file resting on his desk that had been smeared with red ink. The makeshift but universal indication that, whatever it was, it was urgent. So, he flipped the folder and began to read. Quickly at first, impatient and annoyed, not angry at anyone specifically, but irked nonetheless by fate and its seeming desire to see him buried in an early grave through the medium of stress.

Yet, as he read, he found his focus constantly slipping back to re-read what he was looking at, brow furrowing as he received what was, very much, a clipped and neutered Coles notes of a situation that was as sparse on detail as it was infuriatingly to the letter of military doctrine when it came to correspondence. Short, to the point, and lacking anything significant that was deemed too sensitive to write down. Spies were everywhere. And despite attempts to clamp it down, dissonance was always a hallways whisper away…

“Urgent! For Lord Strom’s eyes only! Contact with High-rise envoy made at—redacted. Desire to parley over significant cooperative operation for—redacted. Redacted—presents opportunity to bolster our forces by unprecedented means but is time sensitive. Urgent request from High-tower council to discuss further. Neutral ground acceptable. Opportunity likely lost within one day's time. Photographic evidence towards success present. Messenger still present at—redacted. Please send ranking official with power to negotiate to outpost nine for additional details. Centurion Norman Flerg. Outpost nine.”

Archibald sighed. Holding the missive over the wastebin behind him and flaring his powers as electricity crackled across his fingers and began burning the thin page until it was little more than dust falling amidst the heap below… He knew a little peace was too much to ask for. Still, he rose again, throwing on his long coat and pulling it tightly across his shoulders.

“Melissa!” He called, his old teacher's assistant from the days when he still taught economics to bright-eyed youths who looked to be so eager to hold the entire world in the palm of their hands, arrived to his side but moments after he called.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Take over for me will you dear? I’ve a meeting to attend to.”

Strom soared through the air. High enough that the insects were no bother and fast enough that it made the comparative attempt to commute by vehicle almost seem laughable, at least when pitted against the old days. He sped along at an easy pace, hardly more than twenty miles per hour… Yet, below him, it felt as though the earth just—melted away… He possessed no capabilities towards speed with his mutation, at least not to the same degree of those whose power it was potently expressed in. However, flyers were not known to be very slow in their own regard. Before long, Archibald was passing over what he called the outskirts of his territory within the city. More and more of his concrete bunkers appearing, now silent where once, they’d served as the shield against a relentless ghoul threat. But, for years now, the greatest dangers in this part of the city were other people rather than the undead lookalikes that were what remained of its pre-collapse population.

His faction wasn't the only one active in the area, which had spurred along the initiative to clean up downtown Providence through virtue of mere competition and greed. These days, the small forts held less of an importance, and more remained as a statement. Each one was guarded by a skeleton troop, but no less guarded all the same, the message clear. None entered North Providence, absent their grace. And if you tried, you’d pay for it in blood. Sadly, violence was the only language that those already reverting to savagery, truly understood. So, Archibald screamed it as loudly and forcefully as he could at anyone thinking themselves the hero of their own story.

Not long after he began seeing the scattered forts along the edge of his domain, his eyes fell upon his ultimate destination, the flickering light of campfires and the solid of generator-based electricity, both creating a sort of odd contrast that was almost beautiful from so high up. The descent took but moments. His coat flapping around himself as he rapidly approached the ground. Scouts already noticed his arrival, which, made him appeased that they were not taking their posts lightly. Still, it was hard to tell who was who at such great distances, so Archibald began radiating great arcs of crackling electricity, allowing it to snap and discharge to nearby buildings before letting off on the gas. Just enough so they could identify him. But not too little that rumours of his powers were relegated to tales of mere static…

“Lord Archibald approaches! Stand down! I repeat! Lord Archibald approaches! Do not raise you weapons!”

The old professor smiled as his dress shoes tapped ever so softly against the asphalt. His head gently following in and along the outposts wall until he spotted a figure dressed in a black-dyed trenchcoat, golden paint stencilled upon the shoulders, quickly identifying him as the forts centurion who rapidly advanced towards him with a grim expression.

“Lord Strom!” He called as soon as they made eye-contact, waiving with a stiff and closed-fingered arc from head to shoulder, the—salute that he’d deemed more than acceptable and one that was very easy to employ whilst on the move. “I didn't expect you quite so—soon.” The man added, stopping before Archibald, posture straight, shoulders confident. “However, I assume you're here due to the missive?”

“I am centurion. And I appreciate you're discretion in the matter in involving Mercury. Assuming this is—actually something worth my time?”

“It is sir.” The man nodded, curtly extending his arm to direct his commander who began making his way to the large square bunker at the citadels center.

“And where is this envoy? Did they send a radio or…”

“No, apologies for the confusion, but I did not want to make it sound as though the envoy was present in the installation.”

“They're here?” Strom asked, blinking at the cheeky display of chicanery, having very well thought that he’d need to go somewhere else to meet with them.

“Aye, sir. With all the recent issues we’ve been having with our teams being ambushed in the city, I didn't want to be too careful about this sort of thing…”

“Smart man.” Strom smiled, patting the soldier on the back. “I remember the smart ones, Centurion. Keep up the good work.”

“As you say sir.”

Inside the spartan building was a simple command node. An armoury, barracks and office space were all sequestered into simple quadrants, not leaving an area for a meeting—however, such places were not meant to house such occurrences, thus, it was an unnecessary expense of space. Instead, the envoy from the High-rise settlement was standing near an empty area of the centurion's headquarters. Under guard by two soldiers, but not in a threatening manner. The envoy and one legionnaire were calmly talking together, one sharing a cigarette with the others as light banter bounced between them under the flag of peace.

Highrise and his own forces didn't always play nice with each other when they met. However, so far as neighbours could go, he preferred their doctrine over any of the other alternatives available. Though they were ruthlessly dogged in defending their territory, they were not expansionist. And, more often than not, open to discussion and communication rather than the Eastern coalition or Issac's lunatics. He’d never call the council his friend, as that would mean they’d accept his demands and enter the fold of his empire; however, he was not above converse when the opportunity arose.

“You're the envoy from the council?” He curtly demanded. Stopping before the trio, two of which saluted while the third almost leapt from his skin, clearly recognizing him before shaking himself and rediscovering his purpose.

“Mr Strom. I am Lloyd Fischer. And I’ve been instructed to pass along sensitive information that is of a—extremely sensitive nature. I just wish to present that statement with the understanding that present company will be privy to something—significant.”

“Lloyd… I remember you… weren't you that speedster that was with Norwood when I fried his suit?”

“I was sir.” The man nodded in that kind of—clipped and rapid tone that so many of those with his mutation often had.

“Hmph… well then, lad, be out with it. If whatever news you bring finds itself to breach of secrecy, then it won't be hard for me to find the perpetrator.”

Both soldiers to either side of the envoy shared a similarly wide-eyed gaze, both pushing their chests out further and standing straiter as if their posture could somehow assure Strom of their loyalty.

“V-very well… Then, what follows is an explanation of current events that have the council of High-tower seeking a cooperative agreement with y-yourself, sir. Recently, we have come into contact with an individual of extreme danger and competency in combat. They are a mercenary, and have thus far refused all offers of joining any local factions. However, they are also reported to be extremely unstable of mind. Presently, they are contracted to expunge the horde located at Quonset airbase so that a rather flimsy and odd agreement with Kirk Mason would allow him access to the helicopters present. This will take place sometime within the next five days.”

Archibald—frowned at the young man before him, his head shifting slightly to the side as though trying to determine exactly what had been in the cigarette he’d been smoking… “That’s… not possible…” He murmured, not outright accusing the envoy of wasting his time but…

“That is why I have brought with me photographic evidence to the contrary sir. It has also been deemed important enough a situation that the council is willing to grant you temporary access to Green international so you may observe the proof for yourself.” The envoy proclaimed, raising an old tablet in his hand and signing into it, right away displaying pictures of… mass death… “The mercenary in question, after forcing one of our elite teams to surrender, entered the airfield and wiped out an estimated nine-thousand ghouls and the hulk that was present as well. All within thirty minutes time. It is the council's opinion that this individual will not only be successful in their endeavour at Quonset but has requested and made a provisionary deal with them to finish clearing out Green International, as well as to allow a team to follow her along to the National Guard base. The deal they have made with Mr Burtrom Kole prevents the individual in question from straying beyond their timeline. However, they have expressed that the only thing she has agreed to lock down, protect and offer to Burtom’s team are the helicopters. All else, save their own part of the deal, was described to be fair game.”

Archibald—slowly nodded his head, staring at the tablet as he flipped from picture to picture, burning each one to mind, and only hesitating when he saw the telltale brutish visage of a hulk whose head was charred and detached, half burned, half missing, nearly unidentifiable but…

“How?” He asked, pointing at the monstrosity that very few people in the city could realistically take down. And to do so after dealing with so many ghouls? And escaping the rest? Absurdity… Strom himself could manage it, but, he’d be exhausted… That much power, and the Hulk? It just wasn't worth getting him into such a precarious scenario…

“I was not made privy to that information, sir. However, many of the pictures indicate a single wound to the forehead of many ghouls present. Now, as to why we are contacting you—”

“I already know…” Strom muttered, taking in a breath and looking back at the slightly surprised steedster. “You’d have no hope of handling all this on you're own. You lack the manpower to actually take advantage of the situation and desire an ally to share the spoils with to ensure High-rise is not torn apart by its rivals through the process.”

“That is—an accurate presumption, sir.”

“And an easy one to extrapolate. What are the proposed shares?”

“I am not at liberty to negotiate, sir. However, I am told that the council is prepared to share half of everything. Green International and Quonset both. They seek a partnership and inroad towards greater relations in the future and mutual cooperation in our people's individual goals, especially once Kirk Mason and his people depart from the city.”

“Ha! They want half and Mason’s territory?”

“I am not able to answer that, sir.”

“Don't bother! Im not a simpleton boy… Who is it that is willing to meet with me from the tower and work through my concerns over this—partnership…”

“The Lady Isabella—”

“No, not her, chose someone else.” Strom retorted, unwilling to meet face to face with one of the few people in the city he was weary of in a fight.

“I’ve been told that Isabella will be attending regardless, sir, but that she will do so with minimal security, the same of which is asked of you. We are reaching out with an olive branch for cooperation towards a mutually beneficia—”

“Yes! I Already heard that!” Strom snapped, causing the envoy to flinch as sparks flew across Archibald’s face, his expression thunderous. He did not enjoy being spoken at like he was one of his students. “Why her? Why someone you know is so dangerous?”

“B-beacuse the—mercenary will also b-be present, sir, and she’s the one who Isabella surrendered to and has had the most exposure with her!”

“Isabella—surrendering?” He scoffed, mind settling his ire with a force of will.

“As I understand it, sir, she was defeated quite handily. However, the mercenary is not hostile unless provoked. In fact, they are even somewhat—childlike, it is said…”

“When?” Archibald demanded, the envoy across from him answering within moments.”