The morning started like any other morning: bright, sunny, cheerful, as if mocking the suffering of the lands below. Such are the minds of mortals that they project their own insecurities and guilt onto forces far beyond their control, the weather being one such thing. But then again, it is a land of magic and the unknown, so that forces beyond mere mortal comprehension wasn’t something to be dismissed completely…
Still, none of it matters too much to the gaggle of paper pushers inside the corrugated iron shed that was supposed to be a temporary thing, with its hastily thrown together cheapass desks and chairs, random power cables snaking aimlessly, and a pair of fans desperately blowing the air to pick up the slack of the nonfunctional AC. Even then, the only times anything of the world outside became relevant to any of the men within were the times when someone glanced at the nearest window, or when the front door opened.
And the doors were propped open, to accommodate the incoming streams of people of all shapes and sizes, the only commonality amongst them being unfit for what the US government officials sitting behind the desks have in mind. It was their own doing really, the marines having done a very thorough job, if only accidentally and mostly unnoticed. For as all the heroes died, all the rulers fled, and all else that remained akin to lambs without shepherds… and the packs of wolves still roam around unaccounted for.
At least it saved them from having to make the mistake of doing the disbanding and barring of the previous regime wholesale, not that they were going to do that this time around.
The fighting of war has ended, and the struggle for peace has begun. A task that the USA has a very checkered record, to put it mildly. The fact is well known to all the bureaucrats and flunkies within, most of them were even part of that checkered past in some way, shape, or form.
The lessons of the past weigh heavily in the room, yet already it appears that some of the same mistakes will have to be made, almost as if forced upon by a cruel and twisted fate.
Bick’s eyes were all but glazed over as he barely noted the slowly shuffling line of riffraffs as the whatever government official that he’s supposed to assist in vetting rejected one applicant after another. It's a nail dragging lack of work, made worse by the fact that he’s not even really necessary or even wanted by the department of whatever that’s officially running the show. But as always, his higher ups want some eyes on the ground and a finger in the pie, even if they’ll end up doing nothing and use none of the information provided in a timely manner. Which, while certainly nothing out of the ordinary, also wasn’t anything that would inspire any work ethic.
Such was the state of affairs for who knew how long, but couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, before the massive shadow of a being he never expected to see fell across the room.
“Ah, and who might you be?” The government official, a nondescript middle aged man with a name of Mr. Bakers, asked nonchalantly, with a tinge of weariness that cries out for unhealthy caffeinated energy drinks and sugary snack foods.
"Ah of course, of course, allow me to introduce myself.” The oddly familiar looking walking tub of rancid lard said with the most fakeass sickening polite voice possible. It wasn’t as if those things were physical manifestations either besides the obesity, which wasn’t even that bad as he appeared to be still mostly capable of wobble on two legs, only needing the assistance of an overly ornate walking cane. “Meldor Dygel. Merely a humble merchant of modest talents. I hope I could be of some use for this, um, new enterprise of yours.” His description hardly matches his state of dress, which are in the same ostentatious style as his walking cane.
“Hey, we need to talk.” Bick said with a suddenly hurriedness as he tapped Bakers on the shoulder. He motioned the bureaucrat to follow him.
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“What is it, you goon?” Bakers sighed with a lack of patience as got up and followed the CIA agent. Things are difficult enough as is scraping enough talents to slap together a new local government without the CIA nosing in with their cryptic and nonsensical sidequests.
“I would highly advise you not to hire that- that thing, whatever you do.” Bick got to the point quickly, though unable to hide his ulterior feelings on the matter.
“And why would that be?” Bakers asked, not unreasonably, though his skepticism wasn’t exactly in good faith either, seeing an opportunity to stick it to the others.
“Because he’s a scumbag!” Bick blurted out the obvious.
“Well, how do you know?” Bakers countered, while not necessarily not doubting Bick's assessment, as even the most tone deaf of folks would instantly recognize the sheer amount of bad vibes that fat thing’s emanating.
“For a start, he’s a slaver. As in a literal slave trader.” Bick dropped the bombshell with little fanfare.
“Oh, is that so?” Bakers raise an eyebrow, not being too shocked by the revelation. After all, there’s a goddamn reason why just about ‘combating human trafficking’ is a basic required course for any government worker that had even the most remote chance of dealing with that shit even back on earth. Some literal medieval world being an order of magnitude worse off in that regard is simply to be expected. “What’s the proof?” He continued, just because it’s something plausible doesn’t mean he would simply take the agent at his word and his word alone. Besides, it gives him a bit of pleasure to reinforce that nominally, he runs the show. Officially. And he’ll make that state of affairs last as long as he can.
“I bought my wife from him!” Bick snapped back. Too late, he realized that was not the right thing to say.
“Then what the fuck does that make you?” Bakers snapped back, grabbing onto that tidbit of information with relish, the glint of an ax to grind glinting in his eyes as he quickly seized the moment. “Clearly you have no problems making moral compromises when the situation calls for it.” He jumped to the conclusion, not all that unfairly.
“It’s out of context.” Bick growled, having contemplated explaining further before throwing that aside. Clearly Bakers isn’t in the mind to listen, having made that up already in order to settle whatever scores he has conjured up in that petty little mind of his. “And to get back on topic…”
“That won’t be necessary.” Bakers coldly brushed him off as he made his way back to his desk, the bland expression of bored business settled across his face as he faced the slaver merchant. “Ah, where are we?”
“Of the matter concerning the talents you seek.” Dygel answered, being more smug than ever, his keen sense having deduced that he’ll get what he wanted soon enough. The specifics he’s not sure, but that hardly mattered. Whatever it is, it can only mean more wealth and power, as is meant to be.
“Yes, of course. That.” Bakers continued, ignoring that Bick had by then also returned to his seat at the side. “Creating a new government and civil service from the ground up will take a lot of skilled people, especially people who are good people managers.” The slaver’s eyes light up at that.
“Oh my, those are the exact skills that I possess.” He declared. Bick muffled a groan, the whole performance in front of him being absolutely sickening, yet there’s nothing really he can do about it. Not his business, and not critical enough to security that he could use it as an excuse to intervene, for Bakers knew his side of the craft as well as any.
Bakers simply nodded along as he handed a couple of sheets of papers to the fat bastard, who took them greedily, already seeing the massive graft wealth in his future. “Just sign the bottom of it, and welcome to the team.” He said in a flat voice. It wasn’t as if he’s really enjoying hiring shady characters, but at this point he just wants to get something done. Anything really.
Other choices aside, anarchy is certainly not the way to go, and anarchy is what will happen if they don’t get a government and bureaucracy formed up quickly. For time was already short and that needed to be done yesterday.
Meanwhile Bick watched Dygel taking out a seal and related material to make his seal on the papers, what passes for signatures in this medieval ass world. It was at that point he decided that he’s done with government work, already seeing that things aren’t going to get better, and that in a way he’s complicit in the ruining of another country. Of another world. The thought that he did what he thought was right at the time like thousands of others was of little comfort.
A new government will be formed for that country, even if the faces within will be oddly familiar to those who stick around.