Zark'thul let his gaze wander the office space. For now, it was just him and Elspeth. Their steps echoed against the hard, glossy hardwood, a rhythmic click that seemed to measure out their journey. He paced, thinking, as she followed in silence, ever dutiful.
The doorways and passages on this floor felt... narrower, somehow, in comparison to the lower floor, but no less spacious. Perhaps it was the cubicles, desks, and cabinets filling the room's empty spaces that made them feel this way.
He ran his hand over one of the glass walls and looked past the sleek, black tabletop to an array of fancy screens and speakers within an office room. Chairs and partitions with wooden accents and leather-like upholstery punctuated the chamber, along with tables and even what looked like a little, dimly lit bar that housed wine bottles and decanters.
Everything had been presented in a dusky, vintage yet stylish way. More an aesthetic, than a practical utility.
"What can I expect from this floor's directives?"
Elspeth tucked her clipboard at her side. "The directives from now on will combine different tasks—direct combat, resource acquisition, territorial defense, expeditions, business, and everything in between. Your purpose is to generate profits, the currency of the Tower. You'll have access to 'Ventures' which will give you profit margins as rewards. Therefore, it is up to you to 'invest' the money given to generate even more. The numbers have to go up, after all."
"Ventures? Invest?"
"Given that you've achieved basic proficiency on floor one, now that we're on the second floor, the Tower has granted us the capacity to face challenges of higher complexity, each with unique parameters and conditions. You are the CEO, and it is your role to solve the problem in a way that will generate profits."
"You didn't answer my question..."
She folded her hands in front of her, clipboard still pressed under her arm. "Ventures are much like directives, but with more sophisticated objectives. These could be managing a department, leading an exploration of an uncharted location, establishing a new line of business, and so forth. They will predominantly be carried out in and around the Tower rather than in other realms."
Zark'thul raised a brow. "Around the Tower? You mean the city outside?"
He peered through the office room's windows, peering down on the city sprawled outside the Tower. Elspeth walked over, standing just beside him, her reflection hovering in the glass.
"You've been so preoccupied within the Tower that you neglected the world beyond it," she noted, nodding towards the panorama.
"Only because none of the directives seemed relevant to the city before this point."
"That is true, and why I didn't draw your attention to it. However, as CEO, your involvement will extend beyond the confines of the Tower. Ventures may see you interacting directly with the city and its inhabitants, setting up ventures, securing alliances, or taking actions that could have a broader impact."
A soft frown formed on his face as he peered at the sprawling metropolis outside the windows. It had been a somewhat alien thought since his awakening in the Tower—yes, the city had been there, yet it hadn't loomed large in his immediate concerns. After all, every quest had sent him to a realm that hadn't held much to do with the urban landscape outside, thus far.
He pondered the concept for a moment, then pushed his doubts aside.
Surely it couldn't be that bad...
"And these are the predominant tasks going forward?" he asked, pulling himself from the view.
"Along with others. Moving forward, you are now formally empowered to enlist new Agents, hire external personnel, enter business contracts with other entities in the city, and recruit or incorporate departments to provide specialized functions and support."
"So, that means... More people running around this place?" His expression clouded for a moment, discomforting him.
That might become annoying...
"Yes. You'll require more personnel and expertise to address the rising complexity of future tasks. Your Agent teams, as we've just seen, cannot shoulder the load forever. Though they'll still be a central part of your overall operations, additional personnel are crucial."
They wandered through the floor some more. Her heels clacked against the tiles, breaking the silence as she spoke again. "Moreover, these newer tasks will not be disclosed until the prerequisites are met. Each assignment demands a certain level of acumen to even comprehend, so disclosing them before you can take advantage of them would only unnecessarily complicate matters. Rest assured, the Tower will grant them when it's appropriate to do so."
"So I'm to run an empire of sorts here, basically..."
As his words trailed off, Elspeth led him further through the labyrinth of hallways. Each opened up into smaller offices or communal workspaces, all outfitted with chairs, desks, and tables arranged in clean lines. Plush carpets, lined in an immaculate geometry, cushioned their steps, muting the sounds of their passage.
"Not to worry," she continued, breaking his thoughts. "The necessary information will always be available as the scope of the Tower's challenges increases. This includes everything from venture opportunities to tips and hints from the AetherLink. You'll also be notified whenever an expansion option has been unlocked."
Zark'thul ran a hand through his dark hair, flicking a stray lock from his brow, and frowned. "I'll deal with those Ventures or whatever as they come, then. For now, I'll stick with completing more Directives on this floor."
She nodded, acknowledging his statement. Her emerald eyes stayed focused on her clipboard, jotting down notes. "Understandable. Most in your position usually avoid the 'business' side of the Tower to avoid the complexities, but they eventually are forced to engage with them for the greater rewards and powers that can be gained."
"I don't feel like getting dragged into human politics, but it seems I'll need to eventually," he said. With a wry smile, he turned to look back at her. "Hopefully, if it does start to overburden me, I can always just put you in charge of all that and call it a day."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. I rather doubt there's a more competent person suited to that task, aside from myself."
Her red lips pursed at that, but a trace of a blush soon warmed her cheeks. She shook her head, her ponytail swaying behind her, and added briskly, "Perhaps one day. If and when such an opportunity arises."
Could androids blush? Despite the exposed metal segments beneath her 'skin', Elspeth's complexion remained otherwise perfectly human. Zark'thul often had to remind himself that she was, in fact, a machine of sorts.
Or an artificial lifeform, at the very least. Even her reaction to compliments seemed all too... natural.
But his introspection was interrupted as she set out a brisk pace through the sprawling second floor. They proceeded with a brisk tour, exploring the newer sections of the floor which now branched away from the central, cubicle section they'd started in. Soon, her commentary became an underlying melody, a guiding voice, to his silent thoughts.
----------------------------------------
Zark'thul returned to his office. The storm of information that had inundated him over the last hours had begun to subside, and his mind, although still occupied, was calmer. A steaming cup of coffee had been waiting upon his return, accompanied by a little note from Elspeth. "To help organize your thoughts," it read, in her elegant penmanship.
He leaned back into his chair, his feet on his desk, sipping the dark beverage. Although his body did not need sustenance, the aroma and taste of the hot liquid were surprisingly pleasant. His senses didn't demand it, but his mind had to admit it enjoyed the bitter, acidic bite that crossed his palate.
Scattered across his polished desktop were new sheaves of documents and files on the new Directives. It seemed not all information required the use of the AetherLink for access, this time—at least not directly. Zark'thul ran his fingers over the printout of one directive, its title bold and beckoning: Directive 2-1.
Upon touching the crisp paper, the corresponding entry on the AetherLink glowed softly before revealing a comprehensive overview that projected itself onto one of the large screens in his office.
> [Directive 2-1] Investigate Strange Rumors
> [Objective] Investigate rumors of disappearances, shadowy figures, and rising discontent within the town of Athebury. Find out what lies at the heart of these disturbances and resolve the problem.
> [Difficulty] ★★☆☆☆
> [Time Limit] 4 Days
> [Rewards] 200 EXP, 20 Quintessence Shards, 5-10 Experience Cores (Basic), 3-6 Skill Books (Basic), 3-7 rare materials, 4-8 common materials
> [Repeatable] No
A sigh escaped him as he scanned the details. While the hint of intrigue and the allure of exploration tugged at his curiosity, he would have preferred something more... immediate.
A list of challenges, a sequence of foes to defeat—that was straightforward, clear-cut. Yet now, the Tower was asking him to engage in investigative work? To sift through the intricacies of human behavior and motivations, all the while being bound to the rules of the human form?
Perhaps this was a precursor to those "Operations" Elspeth had mentioned. The more he pondered, the more it seemed his assumption might indeed prove true.
He tapped on the 'Skill Books' entry. Once again, the AetherLink illuminated and pulled up an array of information onto his office's screens.
[Skill Books] Materials that unlock, or upgrade, the skills and abilities of Agents. Ranges from Basic, Uncommon, Rare, Epic, Legendary. The quality of the Skill Book affects the likelihood of getting a higher-level skill upon consumption.
His eyebrow arched as he read on. These Skill Books had not been among the rewards offered before, at least to his recollection. But then again, this was only the second floor. Perhaps the variety of rewards had expanded because the Tower wanted to diversify its incentives.
Not an issue—only another layer to consider.
The rest of the documents and papers in front of him contained much more in-depth, descriptive information about Athebury, their assignment's location. Maps. Market Information. Current affairs.
Apparently, Athebury was a quiet, rustic town nestled in a more rural area outside a city called Vilfar. As the report described, it was an isolated but tranquil settlement, unassuming in its obscurity. Until now, it seemed.
Zark'thul finished his coffee and stood, adjusting his crisp suit. The gesture was unnecessary, as the fabric always seemed to maintain its pristine state, but the ritual was soothing nonetheless.
Yes, an investigative assignment. What could possibly go wrong?
He swept from his office to brief the REDLINEs on their next endeavor.
----------------------------------------
The portal led the group to a craggy field. Mountain ridges clawed at the pale, blue sky. The path at their feet, little more than a crude and boulder-strewn trail, wound its way downhill. Nestled in a bowl between two jutting mountain walls was a humble, weather-beaten town, their destination for this Directive.
Athebury. From their vantage point on the hillside, Zark'thul could pick out the characteristics of the town—a main street with quaint, box-like houses and a handful of larger, more purposeful structures. There was a chapel, its steeple almost comical in its disproportion to the rest of the building, and a collection of agricultural fields scattered around the periphery.
With each step forward, the dry grasses crackled underfoot—much better than traversing through the muck of a marshland again.
The dirt trail soon gave way to a gravel path, and finally, to the more heavily trafficked streets of the town proper. They passed a crudely painted sign proclaiming WELCOME TO ATHEBURY.
Stolen novel; please report.
Humans milled about, casting wary glances their way as they proceeded. They looked... simpler than the ones from the Tower's city, he realized. Their garments were earth-toned, fabric and hide woven into rough-hewn textiles, and the town bore the hallmarks of an agrarian existence.
Pungent smells assaulted Zark'thul's senses. Livestock, soil, and the faint traces of human effluvium tainted the air, far from the sterilized environment he'd left behind in the Tower. As they walked, the bustling drone of the town settled over them—the grunts of beasts, the trundle of carts, and the collective murmur of its residents.
An unwelcome dissonance resonated against his eardrums.
"This place..." Geneve wrinkled her nose. "It stinks."
Byron gave her a sidelong glance. "Much like some of the latrines you left behind back at the barracks, if I recall..."
Geneve unsheathed a dagger in an instant, pointing it at Byron. "Want to test the sharpness of your memory on my blade, Byron?"
As the two traded verbal barbs and threatening stares, Zark'thul turned his attention away and pointed to an imposing, multi-story stone building up ahead. It was the largest in the modest township, sporting wide, double-doored entryways. A worn, creaking sign out front, hand-painted with the words 'The Heathen's Lament', was accompanied by a roughly hewn image of a frothing tankard.
"That will be our base of operations," he declared, silencing Geneve and Byron. "We have four days to figure out what's happening here and resolve it."
They reached the establishment and filed inside. The dimly lit tavern was adorned with the accouterments of a rustic drinking house. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and an assortment of beer-stained tables were scattered about the room.
A heavyset woman greeted them behind a lengthy, oakwood bar top. Her broad face seemed to naturally contour into a smile.
"Good day there, and welcome to the Heathen's Lament!" she called out. "How may I be of service?"
"We need accommodations and food," Zark'thul replied, scanning the common area for other patrons. He caught sight of one lanky, greasy-haired man staring intently into a bowl of stew before resuming his shoveling. "Two rooms should suffice, for three nights."
"Only two?" The tavern keeper wiped her hands on a cloth she had draped over her shoulder. "Ah, one for ye lads and one for the ladies, then? Won't be a problem. One gold per room, two silvers per meal, and a silver more for a hot bath and clean towels."
Zark'thul reached into his vest pocket, extracting a coin pouch he'd prepared beforehand, and counted out ten gold coins.
The advantage of having the goblinoid squad repeatedly run the first floor's directives was the amount of loot they somehow managed to keep extracting. Hoarders...
He passed the gold coins over to the tavern keeper, whose eyes widened briefly at the sum. She quickly recovered her composure. "Bless me. New to the town, then? We don't get many travelers these ways, not since..." her words trailed off and her cheerful demeanor faded for a moment, "...well, never mind that. Tell you what, I'll include a round of ales with your first meal; no extra charge."
She tossed out the offer casually, trying to disregard whatever thought had dampened her mood.
Zark'thul remained indifferent to the prospect of alcohol, but his REDLINEs appeared more than satisfied with the notion. Their spirits seemed to lift at the mention of drink, their previous banter and disagreement evaporating in the face of promised libations.
"Anderson, show these folks to their rooms," the woman barked over her shoulder. Soon after, a young boy emerged from the kitchen, a smudge of flour dusting his cheek and an inquisitive glint in his eyes.
Upon seeing the group, he looked back at the woman. "Ma, they dress funny."
"Hush now, boy, mind yer business," she reprimanded, giving the boy a warning look.
"Yes, Ma," the boy relented. He turned to the group, gesturing for them to follow. "Up the stairs here, this way."
They were led up a flight of creaking wooden steps to a dim, musty corridor. Anderson opened the doors of their rooms and ushered them inside. Each was furnished with sparse but serviceable furniture—two beds, a wardrobe, a side table, and a solitary, latticed window. "Fresh linens on the bed, clean washroom down the hall. We can serve y'all dinner later, too."
The boy kept glancing over to Geneve and the other women, his gaze lingering longer than might be deemed polite.
"Um, isn't... yer clothes a bit... tight?" he stammered, his eyes fixing on their skin-tight combat outfits.
Geneve locked her stare on the boy. "Yes," she retorted, "A bit like that stick up your ass."
Anderson flushed at Geneve's words, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet. With a hasty bow and without another word, he scurried down the stairs to the tavern's common area.
Silence momentarily enveloped them until a chorus of snickers broke out among the agents. Even Zark'thul cracked a smile. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "His observation is somewhat apt. You all look out of place. A change in attire is in order."
"Even you, sir?" Clare asked.
"The suit stays," Zark'thul stated flatly, tugging at the lapels of his immaculate, tailored attire. "I'll give you some coins to purchase clothes from the local market. I can handle myself just fine. In the meantime, take the rest of the day to acclimatize yourselves, but do not draw undue attention. We begin our investigation first thing in the morning."
"How should we divvy up the rooms, sir?" Warren asked. "One for the men, one for the women, as the lady suggested?"
Zark'thul raised an eyebrow. "One for me, and one for the rest of you. Obviously."
Warren swallowed. "Ah, right. Yes, that makes perfect sense."
"But there's only two beds," Byron gestured around, looking between them, "and the five of us."
With a dismissive wave, Zark'thul said, "Draw lots, have a competition, sleep on the floor—I don't care. Deal with it as you see fit. There are more pressing matters to focus on."
After making the declaration, he stalked off to his designated room, ignoring the flurry of murmurs and grumbles that filled the corridor.
Behind the closed door of his quarters, he set about sorting through the details of his assignment. The evening sky, now a deep shade of vermilion, was visible through the window. Beyond the panes of glass, he could make out the hunched outline of a windmill silhouetted against the dying light.
After a short respite, he descended the stairs and strode into the common area. It had become busier, teeming with townsfolk ready to indulge in the tavern's offerings after a day's labor.
He approached the bar and claimed an empty stool. Another woman, leaner and younger than the one they'd first met, acknowledged him with a nod and quickly served him a frothing tankard of ale and a plate heaped with a hearty serving of what appeared to be roasted potatoes and stewed meat.
"My, aren't you a tall drink of water," she remarked, her gaze roaming over him.
Zark'thul stifled a frown. "Excuse me?"
"Apologies, m'lord, we don't often get fancy folk like yourself here," she said with a warm but discerning smile. "Not to pry, but what is your business in Athebury? Trade, perhaps?" The woman made a playful jab with her elbow. "Or might it be... something less work-related?"
She punctuated her question with a wink, then turned her head slightly and presented her neck. She craned closer, an offering clearly etched in her movement, accompanied by a display of fluttering lashes.
Must be a different local greeting... or is she requesting... something else?
While the human social etiquette wasn't entirely lost on him, the connection between those dots was rather more tenuous.
"I'm here on some confidential matters," he responded, keeping his tone even, unsure of the expectation of social protocol at this moment. He drummed his fingers on the side of the tankard, feeling somewhat awkward. "On a personal level, I seek to explore this land."
"Oh my," the woman responded, leaning her elbows on the table to rest her chin on her interwoven hands. "We rarely see strangers this far out unless they're part of the gentry or some group of backwater brigands. Are you from the city?"
He studied the woman briefly, taking her question in stride. It seemed that her curiosity was an invitation to make conversation. Was this customary in places like this?
For a moment, her directness stumped him.
"Yes. Something like that," he finally said, reaching for the ale and taking a sip. He felt the liquid settle in his human body, though, as with the coffee earlier, he detected no physiological need for sustenance. It was more an exercise in mimicry, an act to appear more amenable, less out of place.
The concoction itself was, he concluded, an acquired taste. Tolerable, perhaps, but nothing noteworthy.
"Welcome, then. Enjoy your stay—perhaps we can get to know each other better if time permits. I could show you around town. If you're interested..." A coy smile danced on her lips.
"I shall keep that in mind," Zark'thul replied, adopting a professional, courteous tone. His acknowledgment seemed to satisfy her as she offered a nod, wink, and smile before sauntering off to tend to other patrons.
After she was gone, he finished his meal in a blend of silence and the murmur of tavern life. In the relative quiet, his thoughts turned to the impending tasks of his assignment.
The directive had been clear: uncover the source of unrest here and resolve the problem.
Rumors of disappearances, shadowy figures, and discord amongst the populace. His initial inclination had been to sweep the town and its surroundings for immediate, hostile entities—a straightforward approach to a clear and present danger.
But now? Now, it seemed, there was something more clandestine, more insidious at work in Athebury. There was no apparent crisis, no immediate threat. Just a nagging sense of disquiet hanging in the air.
He exited the tavern and ventured into the cool twilight of the town, wandering away from the heart of the settlement, delving into its outskirts. He proceeded beyond the lights of the main settlement, progressing onto a hillock, and found himself looking down upon Athebury.
Night slowly stole the town's colors, replacing them with shades of grey and the pale illumination of the moon. As the wind tugged at his suit jacket, a thin, eerie sound—like the drawn-out wail of some injured beast—echoed from the forest just outside the town.
IIn the stillness, he looked up into the sky.
Stars gleamed back at him, brilliant and eternal, an elusive familiarity in their constellations, as though he'd known them from another time, in another place, in another form. Their presence was a silent comfort, a reminder of his past grandeur.
A sigh, deep and weary, escaped him. Thoughts tumbled through his mind, snippets of memories past. He remembered... floating amongst the stars, drifting, surveying all under the vast cosmic blanket of space, a ruler without domain, a wanderer without destination. He had once traversed those infinite expanses with such ease, borne along by ethereal currents of power, unbound and unfettered.
But in his new state, that cosmic dance was a distant, almost alien memory. Now, he found himself tethered to this earth, a body and a role both foreign and confining. The absence of his former self, his former power, left an indelible ache in its wake.
His gaze wandered to the town below once more. A sense of foreboding prickled at him—there was something hidden within Athebury's quietude that he could not yet discern.
----------------------------------------
He returned to his room. Removing his shoes but not his suit, he laid upon the bed. Within a single night of human exposure, Zark'thul had experienced more social interactions than during his entire journey through the first floor's environments.
Despite all he'd learned—cosmological structures, the workings of the universe, the insights he'd extracted from every entity that had ever subsumed—humans were somehow... an outlier.
A persistent enigma.
Absent any impending urgency, he stared up at the ceiling, reflecting.
Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. His hand paused, fingers poised over his suit jacket's buttons, when a female voice spoke from behind the door.
"Sir," Lyssa began, "We've been selected to room with you."
"Hmm?"
The sound of the door's handle turning echoed across the room. She pushed the door gently, revealing her presence in the doorway. Instead of her usual combat suit, she wore a laced, linen nightgown that draped from her neckline down to her bare feet.
Behind her, Geneve and Clare stood in a similar lace-trimmed shift. It wasn't the only thing they had in common; their expressions mirrored each other's—they seemed to be sharing an emotion that Zark'thul hadn't had cause to explore.
By the time Lyssa entered the room, he was on his feet, suit jacket unbuttoned. "What's going on?"
"I hope you don't mind that we... decided to sleep in here with you tonight."
"And how did this exactly come about?" he asked, crossing his arms.
Geneve slipped past Lyssa and strode forward, tossing herself onto the bed. With a triumphant sigh, she added, "You ordered us to reach a decision on our own, and we did." Then, she turned her head to face Zark'thul and gave a mischievous grin.
He narrowed his eyes, immediately discerning a lack of candor. "And how, exactly, did you reach this consensus?"
"We cast lots," Clare explained, offering a smile as she closed the door behind them. "They won the room, but the three of us, we um..." Her hand gestures moved rather ambiguously towards him. "...decided on a bit of a separate arrangement."
Zark'thul released a sigh, lifting his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. This had not been part of his calculations when he had assigned the room arrangements. All he'd wanted was a solitary respite for his ruminations.
A heavy pause stretched in the room.
"Alright, you can stay," he acquiesced. "Use the other bed."
"The beds can only fit two people, sir," Lyssa noted, pointing to the room's other, still unclaimed sleeping area. "Three would be far too cramped..."
"Fine, I'll just sit throughout the night, then," he relented, albeit with an undercurrent of frustration in his tone. "I don't need to sleep anyway."
"Oh, no, sir!" Lyssa protested quickly, stepping towards him. "We aren't here to make things hard for you..."
He raised a brow.
Geneve pat the open space on the bed. "It's already been decided who will sleep by you tonight—it's my turn first."
"...'Turn'?" He parroted the word back at her, seeking clarity.
Lyssa smiled.
His second brow rose, joining the first.
"It was a rotating lottery," Lyssa clarified, with a far more natural smile on her face compared to the strained ones she'd often shown him. A pair of dimples emerged in the corners of her lips. "Three nights, three of us."
Zark'thul let out another long, drawn-out breath.
Ever since he allowed them to name themselves, their personalities seemed to grow more... distinguished.
Clare occupied the vacant bed, while Geneve arranged herself under the covers of the bed they intended to share. Zark'thul moved back to his former position, settling himself beside her, and focused on the ceiling once more.
Without warning, Geneve rolled herself closer, resting her head against his left shoulder, her face snuggling into the crook of his neck. "Sorry," she whispered. "There's not much room. You could put your hand around my waist, if it helps you feel comfortable..."
"Just go to sleep. All of you."
Zark'thul stared at the ceiling.
The complexity of these human interactions, as well as the extent of his agents' independence, were growing in unexpected directions. At some point, he'd have to recalibrate his understanding of these entities and their behaviors.
However, at this juncture, diverting their attention or chastising them hardly seemed worth the effort or time. For now, he wanted quiet—for both his thoughts and the room's inhabitants.
There was a job to do, after all.