The image behind her changed. Now the group was looking at an eight-limbed Abnormal covered in thick, overlapping carapace. The person had six limbs, each ending with a series of small hooks covered by barely visible strands of hands. Compound eyes were set deep in the center of the head, dark as night and hidden beneath a chitin cover. Below them was the mouth, an oval hole with two mandibles. It took Ratcatcher a second to realize that this was a child.
The holographic image altered, adding an arrow leading from the being. In the next image, the former kid had legs and hands, shedding parts of the carapace. No, shedding wasn’t the right word. The armor was almost melting into the body, transforming into a more suitable form, losing none of its precious mass. More and more lines came out of this image, leading to a variety of people. Some had a humanoid appearance; only their eyes were black, and occasionally parts of their skin looked rougher. Most kept multi-limb bodies, wings spread behind thin bodies, or cruel stingers wrapped around waists. And among them stood Oathguards, towers of might shielding their lesser kin.
An image of a round tower rising from the ground appeared near the others. Only a quarter of the tower’s length was visible, the rest hidden deep beneath the ground. It had no visible windows and was composed of smoothed stone blocks bound by an organic pulsating substance. Elina zoomed out, showing a series of such towers growing within a sprawling city, occupying several districts. The city was built in the shape of a crescent, and the waves of a vast blue ocean washed against the dry docks and piers. So many different cultures were intertwined in the city that it made Ratcatcher’s heart beat a little faster. Stone castles, modern apartments, homes made of paper and wood, exotic triangular constructions, shared streets with pretty bakeries, and paved roads leading to a gigantic palace guarding a bridge leading to a distant spaceship poking out of the ocean.
The capital of the Oathtakers. A place of wonder, built by the sweat and toil of millions. The once poisonous ocean welcomed people in, and fish swam beneath the calm waves. And the spaceship was hollowed out to serve as a holy site for pilgrims from around the world. The Oathtakers started building their empire in the far southwest, and the ocean they restored once separated the north of their proud nation from the south. If the historical records spoke true, it was an unnatural, poisonous mud that could strip a living person to a skeleton in an instant. But thanks to the joint effort of Iterna and the Oathtakers’, the extensive chemical terraformation changed the fact, shrinking the ocean’s size and returning many lands from beyond the waters. It opened many avenues for the Oathtakers’ expansion to the north, and now their nation looks much like their capital. A great crescent that stretches out in all directions, separated from the Reclamation Army by a series of mighty bastions.
“The Insectoid Commune,” Elina said. “As children, they all share the same appearance. Where a union between a Troll and a Normie, or a Normie and a Wolfkin, or a Wolfkin and an Orais produces a hybrid that bears the marks of both parents, an Insectone always born in larval form, causing a certain... panic when a Normie woman gives birth to an egg.”
Ratcatcher gulped. She remembered the day her brother was born. Mom had groaned and struggled to breathe, pushing the soft body out of her womb as Dad and a few helpers assisted her. And Bloodoath… Liam wasn’t that big by the standards of other kids! Mom was frightened by how light he was, but the boy was always eager to make up for the missing weight, sucking on the milk at every opportunity. An egg could very well dislocate a poor woman’s bones, Normie or not.
“You’ve already seen the Oathguards. These men and women are the strongest representatives of their kin, bar none,” Elina continued, although there was no need. Everyone knew about the Skinwalkers and the Oathguards. The legendary Abnormals were portrayed as famous villains in cartoons and stories around Iterna. “Among the Oathtakers, only three are stronger than an Oathguard. The name ‘Insectoid Commune’ isn’t just for show; many of their group prefer to live in communal houses, called towers. The interior is a giant honeycomb of interconnected corridors leading up and down. Each of these houses is very crowded; it is almost impossible for Normies not to step on the inhabitants, but for people who can climb the walls, maneuvering through the place is a piece of cake.
“Sharing some similarities with the Wolfkins, the Insectoid Commune marks their items with a special scent that serves as a form of ID, marking the confines of their room. I was once in such a tower, and let me tell you, it is downright claustrophobic in there, but the air is pristine.” Elina tossed a lock of her hair back. “And while some members of the commune prefer to live in more spacious quarters, these people take care of their own, more so than any other group of Abnormals. There have been documented cases of Insectone criminals captured by Iterna experiencing acute stress and severe discomfort when separated from the other prisoners for long periods of time.”
“Yeah, I remember a girl in our juvie.” Rowen nodded. “The gang she was in raised her as a complete feral, and she lashed out at everyone, so none could share a cell with her. But she was getting worse and worse each day, refusing to eat and sinking into a weird depression. Therapists helped her with a mixture of artificial scents in her cell, and VI officers agreed to stay in her cell to keep her company.”
“The Insectones can’t live alone.” Elina nodded and called up a report. “The Extinction has changed them in many ways, and this is one of them. They need a social member at their side—not necessarily a mate or a family member—but someone whom they can trust and on whom they can imprint their scent. Don’t take this condition as a sign of their inferiority or anything,” the girl warned the others. “The Insectoid Commune members are aware of their condition and often turn it into a strength by playing a pity card before blindsiding you in one swift move.
“Approximately around the age of eight, an Insectone changes from a larval to an adult form. Some change earlier, others a bit later, but the change is always there. Perhaps as a result, the Insectones formed a religion based around change; they named their deity the Eternal Shifter.”
“I don’t like the way you imply that they just made up the religion,” Ratcatcher said.
“A fair rebuke.” Elina raised a hand in peace. “The religion topic is too broad for me to cover, and I don’t believe in it, which makes me somewhat biased. But, speaking of biases, the Insectone religion reflects their lives. From the constant permutation of a living room to ideating new ideas and implementing them…” A new video behind her showed a rifle made of a mixture of steel and chitin. When the trigger was pulled, a green blast connected the rifle to a metal wall. There was a splash, and the stream of acid melted a path through the obstacle. “...and absolute reverence for the terraforming process. The Insectones are natural explorers; their traders have even mapped out routes to the Sanctuary Cities that are safe from deadly radiation.” Elina hesitated and called up another image.
It was the chestnut-eyed girl herself, but at a younger age. She was being filmed, along with her father and mother, in what appeared to be a narrow tunnel. Insectones passed them on the walls and ceiling. The neck of every Iternian in the picture had the same round spot of reddish inflammation on the otherwise fair skin.
“If you let an Insectone mark you, you’ll have the same mark.” Elina pulled the collar aside, revealing the unblemished skin on her neck. “Don’t worry, the pungent substance disappears in less than thirty days, and it doesn’t hurt. But the smell is strange, I admit. Not unpleasant, but you won’t forget it, ever.”
“Like a Wolfkin’s mark, then!” Esmeralda clapped her hands. “The nice shaman who told us stories rubbed a scent mark on our foreheads.”
“An honorable guest mark, she said,” Edward added. “It lasted until the New Year. We couldn’t wash it off, no matter what.”
“So this is the gist of the people who populate the Oathtakers’ lands.” Elina picked up a glass and drank water. “In our day and age, the nation’s primary sources of income are cheap vehicles, food, and tourism, both for enjoyment and for receiving medical aid. Their industry is impressive but falls short in comparison to the Reclamation Army and, of course, us. Don’t worry too much about losing gear; our mechanical devices have safeguards to prevent copying. As for faith, you’ll have to do your own research. It’s not the purpose of our mission, and the subject is too complicated for me to explain. But the general idea is that several famous faiths are united in the Oath, and citizens worship either any one of them or the combined amalgam. I assume you all know what the Oath is.” The trainees nodded. “Great. Any questions?”
“One.” Edward raised a hand. “You said it was unlikely for us to meet a young troll. Why? Were they all evacuated from Stonehelm or something?”
“Oh, no, nothing like this.” Elina returned to the geographical map and started pointing at the names of the settlements highlighted in black. Birchshell was one of them. “The war saw the displacement of millions of people, and Stonehelm is overcrowded with refugees, as it is the sole safe place in the region. In sheer numbers, the Oathtakers have gained in population despite all the deaths.”
“Holy shit,” Carlos fired, dropping the cheerful facade for the first time. He pursed his lips, realizing the full scope of the war.
“But you see…” Elina looked at Jumail. “I sort of going to crap on the Malformed now. Is…”
“Go on!” the boy laughed and waved his leg, making Elina blanch. “No harm’s done.”
“Thanks.” Elina pressed her hands together. “Young kids live separately. When you have kids with blades for arms, Trolls who gouge each other’s eyes for fun, or Insectones who can sting you with poison, you can’t put them together with the Normies. Not unless you have a surplus of teachers ready to avert catastrophe. Until a certain age, kids of all major groups live separately and almost never meet each other. And the war saw no less than four Malformed tribes come to Stonehelm, many of whom only ever saw living humans as a treat. Let them stay with a Normie for a bit too long, and…” The girl scratched her temple. “Stonehelm has vast hangars, currently empty, beneath its surface. Most of the… problematic kids are there, with people to watch and help them.”
“Sounds bad,” Esmeralda said. Edward and Carlos nodded. “If you don’t let the young ones play together, won’t it cause tribalism?”
“It can, and it did. The Oathtakers took lessons out of it and strive not to repeat the mistakes.” Elina brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and grumbled. “Certainly they are better at this than I am. But for now, there is no better way to keep children safe. Not with the resources they have.”
“They should just ask Lada for help,” Carlos offered, and Ratcatcher wasn’t sure whether he was serious or not. The AI would’ve solved the problem, but is it wise to let an AI be so involved in everyday life? What if she experiences some glitch and goes mad?
“None of our business. Group, here is our task.” Elina tapped a new command, and the map changed, showing Stonehelm and a strange net spreading for kilometers around it. Ratcatcher’s eyes flashed as she realized what it was. “I see that Eliza already knows it. During the clash between Lord Steward and Chosen Prince, they drove each other into the ground. If you ever want to know why the S-class Abnormals should never fight each other, see this. Imagine you are a citizen seeking refuge in Stonehelm. Suddenly, everything shakes; an explosion of sand and stone reaches into the sky, blotting out the sun. And huge cracks spread as far as the eye can see, partying the fertile soil, opening vast underground caverns, and reshaping the area for decades to come.” Elina paused, letting the picture sink in. “Our task is to map segment five. It leads to the west of Stonehelm and is about three kilometers deep.”
“Yay, caves!” Ratcatcher threw up her hands.
“Caves, boring,” Carlos pouted. “Why does the rabble sent to Howe get to explore an abandoned factory while we are stuck… I mean, I gladly take on any challenge, sir!” The trainee stood at attention at Augustus’ glance.
“Carlos, the Oathtakers have graciously allowed us to train in their lands in exchange for all the help Iterna gave them during the invasion,” Elina explained, raising her voice and making all the trainees drop their jokes. “Take care! If we are to encounter any of Chosen Prince’s filth, we are to call the Avengers, a crusader chapter standing at the ready. They will deal with the enemy. If we find any surviving members of the Oathtakers, we are to lead them out safe and sound, though the chances of such an encounter are slim. Most of the fallen soldiers have reported or been found.” The girl paced back and forth. “The Avengers requested a two-day grace period to complete some sort of mission of their own, and I accepted it on our behalf. That means we are stationed in Stonehelm for two days. This is the city right now.”
Elina changed the picture, and everyone shut up, realizing the full scope of what had happened to a once great metropolis. They watched the situation on the news; how could they not? But none of them cared enough to investigate the situation properly. A catastrophe thousand and thousand kilometers away, it felt so distant to Ratcatcher.
Stonehelm was once a city of white color. In the Old World, this place was a chemical factory, built within a hollowed-out mountain. After the catastrophe, the new inhabitants turned the place into an almost impregnable fortress, out of which they raided their neighbors until the Oathtakers brought them in. Smoke pouring out of industrial factories was cleared, castles littering Stonehelm’s insides were taken apart, and, in their place, appeared civilian houses. The production of weaponry and gear was moved beneath the surface. Wheat fields covered the vast stretches of land that stretched to the horizon, interspersed with farms and small settlements. The walls of the city, reinforced with diamodite alloy and turned into honeycomb sections inside, gleamed in the morning sun, reflecting the light and adding to the triumphant atmosphere created by the pleasant music of hundreds of church bells playing during celebrations.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
That was before. The farms and wheat fields were abandoned and the precious food was burned by the fire teams. Rifts the size of streets pierced the ground. The Steel Keep, the massive behemoth of Chosen Prince, lay toppled a few kilometers away from the city, its columns submerged in the passing river, polluting the once pristine waters with oil and toxins. Scientists from around the world, all wearing hazmat suits, occupied the defeated techno-monstrosity like a swarm of ants, sawing it apart and uploading the information hidden in its servers. Some distance away from it lay an aerial platform—one of the Oathtakers’ irreplaceable military beasts of the sky—brought to relief the city under the command of the Child, an intelligence extracted from the spaceship. The platform was several hundred meters long, oval in shape, and armed with all manner of long-range weapons. The titanic battle between the Steel Keep and the airborne forces had scorched the land black for kilometers around; a portion of the river itself had been turned to steam several times. Remnants of lesser engines littered the desolated plain before the city.
A series of roads encircled Stonehelm, leading to the top and one of the many gates within. No longer. A single molten slice of land led from the bottom of the mountain to the crater above, where the Steel Keep had unleashed its main weapon, vaporizing many bunkers and defenses. The high white walls were covered in black mush, and not all of it from the intense artillery bombardment. Chosen Prince’s power corroded some sections, covering whole sections with moss, and the flow of parasites and creepers added to the damage, spreading diseases within. Not a single spot was spared; despite the main assault coming from the north, the city’s walls suffered from all sides, and towering battlements and parapets were toppled in many places, along with massive artillery pieces. In the midst of the battle, the Condemned broke into the walls, and the drone showed the destroyed sections of the honeycomb structure and splattered dried blood on the wall.
Fresh troops had arrived en masse, and tanks had arrayed a defensive perimeter around the wall, resting in the sun. Engineering teams worked day and night to clear the mountain and its surroundings of mines. And when the drone transmitting the image moved back, Ratcatcher saw that not only was Stonehelm now nestled in the broken crater, but that the surrounding plains had been transformed into something akin to the surface of the moon, so many were the craters all around. The battle was won, but it saw the Oathtakers weaken. Several of their precious superweapons, great deterrents that ensured peace between the three nations, had been lost to the war.
Rows of trucks rumbled in and out. Stonehelm was a renowned agricultural center, but with the devastation of the war, it faced food shortages. The Iternian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which had contacted the Reclamation Army and purchased a substantial amount of food at a discount, was able to resolve the situation. This seemed to ease the tensions between the nations, and the famed Oaksters drove the food in, guarded by the Knights of the Wintersong Household. For the first time in decades, the Ice Fangs, bitter foes of the Oathtakers, stepped into their lands not as tourists, not as conquerors, but as an allied force. And from the Wastes came another convoy, accompanied by snarling and biting. Warlord Alpha led the refugees, ready to return home, and the Alpha Pack marched on, howling challenges and obscenities at their distant kin.
The main gates stood. The Condemned unleashed their full fury on them, leaving wide gashes, dents, and bulges on the great gold-plated gates. General Crawler swore a military oath, betting his own life that he would not let a single enemy pass through the main gate, and he kept it. Hundreds had perished before his might, and thousands more died thanks to his keen tactical mind and adaptable strategy. A group of Abnormal artists with powers to control rock and metal, had created a rather nice, if amateurish, statue of Crawler next to the gates. People cheered their inhuman protector, and pilgrims and soldiers often stopped to offer their thanks.
Thanks to the general, the main street leading to the palace in the center of the city was relatively unscathed, though the fighting spilled onto it several times, ruining the smooth concrete road. The towers of the Insectoid Commune and many other buildings were reduced to rubble, and excavation teams continue to find corpses and sometimes living people to this day. The city was scarred, but when the Ratcatcher looked closer, she saw life. People lined up to receive rations. Parentless children sneaked between the legs of their elders, trying to steal or form groups to survive. Police units marched in, herding the young ruffians to one of the many centers where they could be cared for. Shell-shocked lone survivors sat on the sidewalks, dead-eyed at the reunion of happier families. Ratcatcher struggled to understand their pain. To escape Chosen Prince all the way from the north, only to be trapped in the city and lose the entire family, and to see other refugees reunited with loved ones hiding in the suburbs... She clasped her hands together, uttering a prayer to Planet.
The floating cranes of the Barjoni Family excavated the ruins, and the bio-mechanical horrors of Rho Corporation sniffed through the rubble, calling their handlers in hoarse voices upon finding a survivor. A single green wyrm, owner of a large construction company, oversaw the cleanup of the filth left by the Chosen Prince from the streets and walls. The Ice Fangs, led by Sword Saint Bertruda Mountaintop, have teamed up with charities from Iterna to distribute warm clothing, medicine, and rations to the people. Soros Sunblade, a potential heir to the Sunblade family, has arrived with his family’s construction crews to rebuild the destroyed Trade District. Temporary Governor Abel Bloodrave, a member of the Insectoid Commune and the person who once left Sword Saint Bertruda armless and legless, worked side by side with his former mortal enemy, and both the Insectones and the Ice Fangs walked the streets, speaking to the people and calming their fears. Restoration efforts were in full swing, and new hospitals, bigger and better than before, were springing up in place of the ruined ones. There was work to be done and money to be made, and the Reclamation Army and Iterna forgot all about rivalry with the Oathtakers for the time being.
At the heart of the city, there stood the governor's palace. Its white walls were defaced, the magnificent cathedral built next to this sturdy bastion was badly damaged, and the machines of the Barjoni Family were busy leveling it further, promising to build a truly majestic sight. A circle of water dried up around these buildings, and the workers had to do it to remove the poison left by Chosen Prince. And a single statue created from the ruined armor stood across the main path leading to the governor’s palace. The Ur-Champion has found his demise in Stonehelm. Like a tide of green and dark, the mechanical horrors, shamblers, and the Condemned came upon him, but the man stood, beating them back again and again. He was cast aside, almost carelessly, by Chosen Prince, but he rose from the polluted mud without his battered armor.
He was a Malformed. And not just any Malformed, but the one who had caused thousands of deaths in the first days of the New World. So many children and innocents had been killed at his and his tribe’s hands. But in the hour of despair, in the face of the inevitable, the Ur-Champion kept his promise to change. Torn by wounds and bleeding from every orifice, his body burned from a deadly infection that consumed him. He still managed to protect the children hidden in the palace’s main bunker, saving the lives of tens of thousands. The Malformed buried his fangs in the thick neck of Chosen Prince’s champion, biting out the throat. He then sat in the corridor, too weak to act, and became one last wall between the weak and the mad, spending his life looking at those he cherished while the cruel weapons and cannons assaulted his back.
The fact that the Founder didn’t slay the Ur-Champion and that the Oathtakers’ leaders knew he was alive caused quite a scandal. Many countries, some of which had joined the Oathtakers, had issued death warrants for him in the past. That he was by their side all this time was… conflicting. The Malformed wasn’t forgiven; the Church of the Planet didn’t accept him as a saint, but they did add him to Stonehelm’s guardian spirits, and a lone steel skeleton of Houstad’s ambassador was seen bringing flowers to the statue made from the Malformed’s ruined plate. And the figure wasn’t alone; grateful survivors also began holding celebrations in honor of the monster who had changed for the better. People didn’t honor who he was. They still spat at his former name and cursed his deeds. But in honor of the man the Ur-Champion became, even the harshest critics have tried to extend a helping hand to the scared and panicked Malformed who had taken refuge in the city.
Many of those brutish fighters escaped Chosen Prince. Half-feral, unwashed masses poured into the city; their cruel leaders held their lesser ranks with an iron fist, often killing anyone who attempted to bite a citizen. During the siege, this had to be tolerated, for many Malformed gave their lives sealing breaches. After the war, the Malformed expected to be kicked out, but instead specialists tried to persuade them to stay and settle down, and doctors treated their wounds while the locals invited the confused primitives to the festivities. An entire tribe had already agreed, and other tribes bled out the members who chose to stay in civilized lands.
There is a lesson here. Ratcatcher thought. You can’t always earn forgiveness. But you can always change and make amends. The Ur-Champion, whose real name no one spoke, was a person who refused to stay at the bottom and rise into the sunlight. Whether his victims would ever forgive him in this or another life was unknown. But she didn’t think the man would. He had learned to care for people, and that was something in her book. As Iterna said, it was never too late to try to change.
A mound rose in the plains. All the unidentified fallen slept there, friends and foes alike. Revered holy mothers and blessed fathers led farewell processions, asking their deities to guide the lost souls to a better life, and weeping humans tried to break into the former battlefield in search of their loved ones. But it was too dangerous; some diseases still lingered in the corpses, and even identified soldiers made their final journey in one of several blue funeral pyres.
Stonehelm suffered greatly. But there were many willing to get it back on its feet. Corporations cared little for the nations’ spars, and with the fall of companies operating in the city, others flooded in, competing for the rights to purchase, restore, and later use the fertile lands. In a few years, the scars will fade, and in decades, most people will forget the horror and go on with their lives. So why am I so sad, then? Ratcatcher wondered. None of it is because of me or Iterna. Neither was I strong enough to aid in any actual way. Hustler downed me like a child. Why am I feeling that strange pain in my chest?
“Many people over there are bitter over the perceived lack of Iternian aid. So none of you are getting a comfy rest in a hotel. Wear the rewards…” She showed a simple medal gifted to her by an Oathtaker priest for aid in rescuing the civilians. “… at all times to diffuse any potential hostile situation. We will make ourselves useful! Eliza will help the priests in the Church of the Planet hand out rations.”
“Ah, so that’s why you asked the questions yesterday.” Ratcatcher nodded. “Will do.”
Good. She planned to volunteer herself. The thought of helping, however small, brightened her mood.
“I’m not much of a believer myself.” Jumail scratched his mandibles. “But I’d like to help, too.”
“It’s not a problem,” Elina said. “There are many charitable organizations in the city; we’ll find you something not involving religion. Vasily, Esmeralda, I, and Edward already have plans for our own contribution.” She pinned Carlos and Rowen with a gaze. “This leaves you two. What are you up to, and why is it such a secret?”
“The Matriarch bought a hospital in Stonehelm.” Carlos put his head on his fist. “Rowen and I are going to work there. I’ve made a promise that I’ll set him up for an intern job.”
“A medic, really?” Elina raised her brows. “Nice.”
“Yeah, I will not become an explorator.” Rowen scratched the back of his neck. “Truth be told, I’ve only joined the program to get out of juvie and start making amends. But after that thing nearly crushed me, I got scared. I know it’s silly…”
“It’s not!” Ratcatcher supported him. “I almost had my nose carved into the back of my head!”
“And I broke my fist and threw up in my helmet because I was scared!” Elina interjected.
“That’s kids’ stuff. An armored vehicle rammed me! Nothing beats the scare I felt digging through the ground.” Vasily announced it with a smug face.
“And I was attacked by the scary guys, had my leg broken, and then there was an even scarier guy who insulted me over and over…” Jumail mumbled.
“A dude tried to strangle me!” Carlos interrupted him. “Without my permission! The ruffian’s manners shocked me to my gentle core.”
“I got stung! It was super scary!” Ratcatcher wasn’t letting the others win this argument. Hustler was the scariest and most dangerous opponent in that fight, and that was final! She faced the strongest and lived!
“And our heads all got hurt!” Edward and Esmeralda sang. “We had to sit out the whole fight, worried sick about you all!”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a doctor, Rowen,” Augustus said calmly, stopping the competition. “I’m sure your father is proud of your choice. It is an important and noble profession. Often more so than ours, judging by how often you get hurt. Carlos.” He looked askance at the Barjoni.
“That is exactly why I felt the need to improve my medical knowledge and relieve the poor doctors who are tired of treating the proletariats. I dare say that I have experience in this field, having communicated with the underclasses for so long.” Carlos placed his hands behind his head.
“Stop lying. And are you going for a spar again or something?” Augustus narrowed his eyes and his voice grew cold. “Tell me the real reason you are going to the hospital. Now.”
“H-how did you… N-no sir, my father is in Iterna,” Carlos stumbled. “It’s… my dear mother in Stonehelm, and she agreed to let Rowen continue his practice in exchange for me helping in accounting. My dearest parents still can’t accept the thought of me choosing more manual labor.”
“Good. If that stunt of yours happens ever again, I will call the police.” Augustus slammed a ringing bag on the table and got everyone’s attention. Ratcatcher still wanted to ask what exactly Carlos did to piss off the instructor so. They all made mistakes both in training and in life, but the usually dispassionate Augustus was genuinely angry right now. But the anger disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving calmness behind. “Here are four thousand crests. More than enough to pay your hotel bill and buy supplies for the mission. I will be at the embassy; a friend of mine works there. If anything happens, I’ll know. Carlos.” The instructor maintained eye contact with the trainee for some time and continued. “Until the mission is over, you are on your own. It doesn’t mean that I won’t be trailing you, but it does mean that if you spend the money on toys or treats, you’ll have to sleep in a shelter or on the street. Be sensible and don’t risk your lives.”
“Why can’t we use our credit cards?” Carlos asked. “Sir, I don’t want to insult the Oathtakers’ technological level, but surely even they use…”
“Credit cards don’t work in Stonehelm,” Elina answered.
“Why on earth is that?” Carlos’ eyes went round. “The Oathtakers have connections with Iternian banks. They are part of the international economic system, for God’s sake!”
“Because of the invasion,” Ratcatcher said, shutting her mouth and glancing at Elina. The leader shrugged and nodded, inviting her to continue. “Okay, see, here is the deal. Many people died; their credit cards went missing. And those who survived are still reeling from the invasion. Scammers of all kinds are trying to take advantage of it, and thus, Lord Steward has asked for a temporary suspension of online banking in the Stonehelm area. It hurts the economy, it makes the situation inconvenient for the people, but it gives them a chance to breathe and calm down, and the bank tellers can alert the distraught people to possible fraud and identify any scum trying to cash in on the dead people’s money.”
“I will have to carry physical money around?” Carlos asked. “Like some sort of common pleb?”
“You can always get food and sleep in charity shelters.” Elina shrugged.
“I’d rather die.”
“Enough,” Augustus said, setting the empty tray aside. “This meeting is now adjourned. Jumail, regarding your request, you may use my room. Vasily, stay with me. The rest of you. Out. Get some rest.”