"Jason," Bob nodded.

In keeping with his resolution to face his problems head-on, he'd decided to go back to eating breakfast at the Adventurers Guild in Holmstead every morning. If nothing else, it would force him to address any waiting messages. He had a few ideas for trans-dimensional cellular service, but at the moment, when he was in his inventory or his Arcane Depths, he was unreachable.

Jason sat down across from Bob with a heavy thump. He practically oozed exhaustion, in direct opposition to the man who stood lightly behind him and to the right. He had the stance and attentiveness that Bob had come to associate with the Old Guard.

"Bob," Jason began, "on behalf of her Majesty, I've been tasked to introduce Major Reginald Smith of the Twenty-Second."

Major Smith frowned toward Jason for a moment, then with a quick shake of his head, he stepped forward, offering his hand to Bob. "As the lad said, I'm Major Smith, serving Her Majesty in the Special Air Service. Her Majesty has offered my services to shore up your personal security, although," he glanced behind Bob, "it appears Mr. Harris is already working with you."

"He is," Bob acknowledged, "and his very first piece of advice was that I shouldn't shake hands with people."

Smith broke into a grin and withdrew his hand. "Right he is," he chuckled, "There is a bit of debate over where that particular tradition began, but the colonials have been using it for nearly as long as we have."

"Longer," Harris grunted, although Bob could hear the smile in the man's voice.

"Regardless, assuming Mr. Harris has no objection, Her Majesty would like me to shadow you for a few days and offer whatever aid I may," Major Smith said.

Bob turned to look at Harris, who nodded. "Smith and I have worked together before. They aren't quite as good as the Service," at this, Smith looked affronted, "but the Sport and Social boys know their trade well enough."

"Fantastic," Jason mumbled, chin resting on his chest. "Someone wake me when breakfast arrives."

"May I?" Smith asked, gesturing to the chair to Bob's left.

Bob nodded, and Smith sat.

"You'll have to excuse young Jason," Smith said quietly, "He's a good lad, but he's a bit soft. I think he would have made a fine addition to Her Majesty's Royal Marines, but he chose an easier path. Between attending to Her Majesty and working to complete the project he proposed, he's a bit worn down."

"The scenario based Dungeon?" Bob asked.

"I can still hear you, and yes," Jason muttered, lifting his head and glaring at them both. "I finished it yesterday. The reason I came looking for you this morning was to catch up, as we haven't seen each other for a bit, and to ask you to take a look at it before I turn it on. The Major tagged along when I informed her Majesty of my plans."

"I'm due for another break next weekend," Bob replied after a moment's thought. "I'm a little behind schedule at the moment, and as you've found out, you can only substitute caffeine for sleep for so long before it all comes crashing down."

Jason snorted. "Quite," he agreed. "I'm not sure why the Queen is keeping me around, there are members of her detail with actual healing paths who are the same level as I am, but when her Majesty calls, what Englishman would fail to answer?"

"And that, lad, is why Her Majesty has placed Her trust in you," Smith smiled fondly at Jason.

Bob wasn't sure, but Jason may have blushed at that comment.

"So you want me to look over the flows?" Bob asked.

"I do," Jason stifled a yawn, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. "I've set each floor to redirect its mana flow to the next floor down until the floor boss is killed, at which point the circuit is interrupted. I think I've built in a delay of about five minutes before the floor starts to repopulate, but we'll need to test it to confirm. Also, I've set the entire Dungeon to recycle the mana up and out from the bottom floor." Jason's expression, which had been bright, if exhausted, darkened. "Something I'm not sure you or Thidwell have considered, is the danger of a Dungeon break. Although gated floors effectively seal the monsters in, the fact of the matter is that if enough mana floods the bottom floor, I believe that there is a non-negligible chance that monsters other than what was intended could coalesce. It's possible that they might very well be capable of digging themselves out of their hole. Thus far, the issue hasn't arisen, as there have only been two Dungeons built with that system, Holmstead and Harbordeep, where Thidwell and the King keep the lowest floor cleared during wave and Tide." He shook his head. "I'm basing my assumption on the damage done to the Dungeons in Glacier Valley during the Tide, but I'm fairly certain that is what happened. If you could get the information from the U.S. Government, you could confirm it."

Bob blinked. He hadn't paid a great deal of attention to Glacier Valley recently, and he hadn't heard about anything happening during the Tide. He couldn't argue with Jason's hypothesis, though. "I'll ask," he agreed. "I know that with the more traditional Dungeon designs, waves and tides can cause monsters to flood out of the Dungeon, which is why the entrance is traditionally set up as a defensive choke point." It was his turn to frown. "Obviously, with a Gated Dungeon, that wouldn't accomplish anything, as the monsters would be coming straight up, for the most part, placing them well outside the Gate room."

"Something to consider," Jason sighed. "Saturday after next, then?"

"I'll be here for breakfast, we can test your Dungeon after," Bob agreed, pulling out his phone and tapping the event into his calendar. The increase in his memory offered by his Intelligence didn't seem to apply to remembering his schedule unless he deliberately thought of it. When he did, he knew he'd be able to remember this moment with near-perfect recall, but that didn't do him any good when he wasn't thinking about it.

He could have used his user interface to set an alarm, or manage his schedule, but using his phone helped to keep up appearances. Just because everyone thought he was special didn't mean he didn't need to conceal whatever he could.

----------------------------------------

"Just the kitty I was looking for!" A voice called from across the tavern the following day.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Bob could practically feel the tension rolling off Smith and Harris as Yorrick, High Seat of the Warlocks Guild of the Karcerian Empire strode over to the table with a smile on his face, then began to rub Monroe's ruff.

"Yorrick," Bob nodded and gestured towards the chair across from him, then stuffed another bite of sausage in his mouth.

Monroe had already finished his breakfast as well as parts of both Smith's and Harris'. Well fed and now somewhat sleepy, he leaned into the ruff rub, and engaged his purr motor.

Yorrick sat down, applying both hands to the task of petting Monroe. "While I mostly wanted to pet Monroe, I also wanted to 'bend your ear', as they say," his grin widened. "I love the sheer variety of language Earth has developed." He shook his head. "Judging from their rather dour expressions, I'll 'go out on a limb' and guess that those two gentleman are professional security, likely from your President?"

Bob nodded, folding some scrambled eggs into his toast, then taking a bite of the makeshift sandwich.

"Excellent, I'd tell them to relax, but that would be counterproductive," Yorrick continued. "I'm here to make a deal."

Bob swallowed, and pointed his fork at Yorrick. "The head Warlock of the Dark Empire wants to make a deal?" He snorted. "I'm pretty sure I should refuse on general principle. I like my soul, thank you very much."

"So many hurtful stereotypes," Yorrick said with a mournful expression, which immediately flowed back to his irrepressible grin. "Luckily for you, I'm not after your soul, just your endorsement."

"Come again?" Bob asked.

"Let's back up a second," Yorrick replied. "You were taken prisoner by a group of level zero, tier five individuals." He shook his head. "As a peak tier six, I imagine you feel ashamed of yourself, and you should. Regardless of Earth's lack of mana regeneration, a few simple precautions could have prevented that from happening."

"I know," Bob sighed, eyeing the last slice of toast, and considering if a dollop of apple butter would go amiss. "I've given it more than a little thought, and a persistent effect regeneration, eldritch shield, and a barraged summon mana-infused creature would have stopped the whole thing before it even started."

Yorrick nodded. "Exactly right, and it was the advice I was about to give you," he chuckled. "Beyond that, you're going to have to deal with people who have a few levels under their belts coming after you, and as the men behind you will no doubt confirm, there is always a danger you don't see coming. To that end, the Empire would like to offer a 'Get out of jail free' card."

"What, exactly, would that be?" Bob asked, unable to contain his interest.

"Are we negotiating?" Yorrick asked with a wicked grin.

Bob sighed, pulling out a jar of apple butter from his inventory. "We are," he agreed.

"A Divine Blessing," Yorrick explained. "The Empire will station a squad of clergy on Earth, where they will, once an hour, attempt to summon you. The target of the spell must agree to the summoning, so the only real issue you'll have to deal with is the fact that you won't be getting a good nights sleep, as you'll be woken up every hour to accept or decline the summons. Unless a level capped tier six ritualist with an Affinity puts up wards to stop the spell, you won't have to worry about anyone keeping you captive." His smile turned feral. "And if they do, we'll just have Cascadia cast it, and they can enjoy the blowback of their ward scheme failing against the power of the High Priestess of Mor'Noctum." He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Between you, me, and Monroe, she's the second strongest being on the planet."

"Of course," he leaned back, "we'll do the same thing back home."

Bob frowned. "That seems like something the Church of Light could do as well," he said.

"Sure," Yorrick agreed with a grin, "if they had the clergy to spare, and were willing to hand out the blessing, which they don't and they aren't likely to."

"I'm pretty sure Huron would give me any Divine Blessing I asked for," Bob said firmly.

Yorrick shook his head. "I'll defer to your judgement of Huron," he continued, "but the lack of clergy remains, as does the cost of casting that ritual every hour. The Empire can and will bear that cost to ensure your safety."

Bob nodded reluctantly. He didn't know how many clergy the Church of the Light had, but his Divine Blessing wasn't going off, so Yorrick was telling the truth, or at least what he believed was the truth.

"We are also offering you sanctuary," Yorrick said. "While you have your home here in Greenwold, we are also offering you dual, or triple, I suppose, citizenship. We'll build you a home in any of the seven cities, or even outside them if you're feeling particularly ambitious."

"I'm not sure I want to be a citizen of the Empire," Bob replied.

Yorrick feigned a hurt expression, clasping his hand over his heart. "You wound me," he gasped.

"I'm sure," Bob said dryly. "What did you mean when you said you wanted my endorsement?"

"I'm sure you saw my advertisement video," Yorrick smiled, "it was successful, but as I said, there are many hurtful stereotypes. I think I managed to snag every edgelord and rebellious young adult on Earth, but believe it or not, the numbers just weren't as good as they could have been. I'm working on another campaign, and while I was hoping to snag some big name celebrities, your friend Jack has done an extraordinary job of snapping them up. That's when I realized I already had a friend with quite the following, as well as international recognition."

"Ah," Bob said as realization dawned over him. "You want me to shill for the Empire?"

"I wouldn't use the word 'shill,' but yes," Yorrick nodded. "We'd like to take a few days, record some footage of you exploring the various aspects of the Empire, and then put together a video showcasing the many ways that joining the Empire could help someone from Earth."

"Why?" Bob asked, then raised his hand. "From what I understand, people in the Karcerian Empire live in huge walled cities. You can't possibly have room for that many immigrants."

"We don't," Yorrick agreed, "but we will. Now, just after the Tide, is the perfect time to expand our cities, building out more walled sections. We're prepared to build out for an additional four million citizens." He paused for effect. "Double our current population, which will ultimately be necessary to maintain any sort of equilibrium with Greenwolds expanded population."

Bob nodded slowly. He was aware of the tension between Greenwold and Karcerian.

"I picked up over six million people with my broadcast," Yorrick said proudly, "and we're running through the list pretty quickly, but our turnover for permanent citizens is less than a tenth of a percent." He shook his head and sighed. "We offer reincarnation, as well as the opportunity to obtain an Affinity Crystal, but the stigma of being 'Dark' is keeping the people we want away."

"So celebrity endorsements," Bob grunted.

"The research shows it works," Yorrick replied.

"Here's the thing," Bob began slowly. "I like you," he admitted, "you, as a person. You're pretty awesome."

"I'm blushing over here," Yorrick pantomoined fanning himself.

"So while I'm inclined to trust Yorrick, I have some trepidations about trusting the Head of the Warlocks Guild of the Dark Empire," Bob stressed. "Our cultural differences are good for a laugh, when we're just playing D&D or shooting the breeze. I've learned that for almost everyone, you aren't the job you do. It's not a sign of mental health if you are your job."

That particular lesson was one he'd had to learn himself. It had taken almost two years for him to admit to himself that he'd stayed at Fermilab because the only thing he had besides the job was Monroe.

"I'm not saying no," he continued, "but I am saying that if I do this, I need to the Empire, all of it," he stressed. "Not the candy coated bits you've been showing off, but the bad parts as well. The people under indenture, the drugs, the prostitution, the orphans, all the parts of society that we try to hide from."

Yorrick nodded. "While I don't think you'll particularly like everything you see, I don't think it'll be nearly as bad as you imagine. I've been angling to get you over for a tour anyway," he finished with a grin, then stood up, much to Monroe's displeasure, who had been enjoying the extended petting session.

"Hoist your feline overlord to his proper position of reverence, and we'll go," Yorrick said, thrusting a hand into his pocket.

"Now?" Bob asked, startled.

"No time like the present, and the Empire doesn't have a lot of time to waste," Yorrick admitted. "The clock is counting down, and every day more and more of your citizens are entering stasis, which puts them out of reach for recruitment."