I had grown numb to the surprise and stress of it all. Fully expecting the end of the world—or at least my existence within it—to occur at any twist and turn the day presented. Maybe part of it was hubris still; the man kept alive by destiny wouldn’t fall to a simple meeting at his workplace.

They had said as soon as possible, which meant that I had a little time. I was not a dog that performed tricks and ran just because they said so. Plus; I needed to give my wounds a chance to heal over, shower, and get into a change of clothes. Had to look my best for death.

Rodney was a little more on-edge about my slothful approach to bending to the Org’s whims. Not knowing the reason why they were calling me up was probably doing the heavy lifting for his anxiety - only cooled by the fact that it was just a summons for myself. Then again, that just meant he had to wait here and hopefully hear from me again.

I adjusted my hat on my head, hair just about dry now. Side by my temple was sore still, but the wound was no longer visible. Everything else was a slim line of pink, freshly healed and covered by my undamaged clothing. I spent just over an hour getting ready, while the Blank sweated buckets and Wight drew a couple pages for his wall.

There was nothing palatable about worrying what the meeting could be about. They could have clocked that I just murdered three Hunters for no reason. Or they had found out I was the Last Lantern. The hope was that it was just for me to receive my promotion and be allowed access to the Mids, but the chances of that felt… well, wasn’t counting my chickens.

With nothing left to busy myself with and delay proceedings any further, I walked down into the basement and stretched out. “Ready, Wight?”

[For anything, Eric.]

He tidied up his paper and markers into a small tray we had down here for him. His slightly taller self seemed to be no better at drawing, but he seemed to still have the same amount of enthusiasm for his art.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be,” I said as I turned back to Rodney, “so don’t wait up if it gets late. I’m not sure if there were any plans for food tonight, but if you get hungry, then get something for us all?”

He nodded. “I’ll wait if I can. Will probably stress eat, but if it’s your promotion, then maybe we can celebrate after?”

“Sure.”

[I will certainly be ravenous too, the Rodney.]

Finger guns were the only response, as the blue light of the Org portal illuminated the basement as it spooled up. Into Hell we went, I supposed. With one last look at the gray walls, I stepped through and was received immediately.

~Eric Redd. Proceed.

I did so, at the voice’s request. The doors of the dark portal room hissing to allow me entry into the reception area. Wight would have gone his usual way to wherever the vessels were kept. They weren’t clear if his presence was required for my meeting - which could be good or bad depending on circumstances.

“Mr. Redd. The Director and Partridge are already waiting for you in Room Two.”

The receptionist sounded curt, perhaps because I forgot to bow to the portal room. I was getting sloppy in not showing my disdain for the Org. It could be that I had made them wait for over an hour, and they weren’t best pleased with that. Shame to put them in such a bad mood.

I moseyed on down to Room Two and tried to imagine the sort of small talk Amber and Partridge would have while waiting for me. Strange that they changed rooms so often, but perhaps there was a method to the madness. If only the same was true for most of the insanity that sat in the backseat of my life. Two minutes alone and I was already drab and noir, waiting for the bell to ring to signal my final round was over.

Here was the door. I knocked.

“Come in,” Partridge's gruff voice beckoned.

One last sigh and then I pushed through and crossed the threshold. “Director, Sir,” I said blankly, giving them a bow.

Standard setup. One uncomfortable chair in the middle of this dimly lit room for me to prostrate myself in. A wide desk illuminated by a bright lamp where the Director sat amongst opened paperwork, her yellowish eyes already full of scorn for me. Partridge with arms crossed, leaned against the desk, perhaps only just getting into position after I had knocked. It was like a little stage show, in a way. We all had parts to play in this verbal tug of war.

“Sit, Eric,” the man ordered.

I didn’t feel much like obeying like a dog, but I had to show a little reverence for now. There were no kill-teams sitting in the corners of the room, or overtly villainous laser beams affixed and ready to blast me to the nether. Even the floor didn’t appear to have a trapdoor beneath the torture contraption they told me was my place to sit. Things seemed safe for the moment, so I did as I was told.

“You had a more pressing birthday party to attend to? Needed to blow the candles out and make your wish?” His face was contorted into a grimace, but I could tell he was putting on an act for the Director’s sake. Didn’t even labor it with expletives.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Apologies to you both.” I lowered my head. “Rodney and I have turned to video games as a form of escapsim and sometimes time just runs away from me.” Only one chair here, so they didn’t intend to invite Wight in.

The Director turned a page on her desk. “There are certainly worse vices for a man. Just see that it doesn’t inhibit your work, Mr. Redd.”

“Yes, Director.”

Cordial so far, with the hint that I still had a job and we weren’t both about to try to turn each other into ashes.

“As usual, we called you in for a handful of reasons,” Partridge began, raising an eyebrow toward the woman. After a brief nod from her, he continued. “Not all of them bad, for once. Perhaps there’s more inside that thick skull of yours than tequila and tumbleweeds.”

I fought my facial muscles to remain neutral, despite wanting to grimace. Was that really him? That was a really weak off-the-cuff insult, with no blue language. Sure, he usually toned it down in front of the bosses, but…

“Sir.” I nodded.

“As it’s your birthday, we’ll start with the shitty, boring gifts and work our way to the grand finale, okay?” His question required no response. “We have a little issue. Another betrayer in the ranks.”

“Betrayer?” I furrowed my brow. “I thought they were all dealt with?”

He shrugged. “Might be unrelated to the previous group. Could just be someone who slipped through the cracks. Either way, we’ve had Hunters turn up dead.”

I tilted my head to the side, not wanting to say it - but he caught my drift.

“Outside of normal parameters.” Partridge shook his head. “Some are up in the air, sure, but losing three of our most promising points to something more targeted.”

That did sound bad. I grimaced. “Three this week, sir?”

“This morning,” the Director answered, her yellow eyes staring at me impassively.

My brow furrowed, but I didn’t say anything more. I wondered if they had a way to track which destinations my portal device had been used for recently. I’d need to tell Rodney to delete my Hell browsing history if I died. It was usually best to allow them to fill the silence rather than offer up anything I could trip myself up over on.

“We believe it is being done by one individual,” she continued. “Going by the name of the Last Lantern.”

My internal organs moved around even if outwardly I remained stoic. “Sounds like a terrible superhero name, Director.”

“Unfortunately, it’s nothing so… benevolent, Mr. Redd. They are somewhat a false prophet, believing themselves to be sent by the divine. Apparently, that folly involves murdering our Hunters.”

“Seeing as you’re one of our best now, we thought you should be wary.” Partridge had a good poker face, despite knowing the truth.

“One of your best, sir?” This time my quizzical look was genuine, as I didn’t feel my known skills were really that high up on the charts.

Partridge sighed and gave a brief glance towards the Director. “We don’t have that many Hunters in the Mids. Certainly not as many as we would like. It’s just untenable for most.”

I nodded. If the Org wasn’t so gung-ho on getting everyone in the Lowers killed off, then that might change. “Rough number, sir?”

Another glance at the woman to receive her approval before he continued. “Six at present. Seven by the end of this meeting.”

My eyes blinked while my brain tried to process. That few?

“Sorry for spoiling your surprise party,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “We think that since you have demonic influence within you from Wight, you might be high up on the target list.”

Seemed reasonable. If the Last Lantern wanted to kill all the naughty Hunters tainted by demons, then I was a prime target. Kill all demons was the slogan. “Any clues or things I should be wary of?”

The Director turned another page. “The assumption is they will have a melee based patron or skill-set, based on the three killed earlier today, along with another four this week.”

I nodded slowly.

“Some of those we aren’t sure about,” Partridge clarified, “but they fit the pattern. Although our Mids numbers are few, there are enough Hunters in the Lowers that make it hard to narrow the search down.”

“However,” Amber added, “we will no longer be assigning Hunters on the same Quests. So if you come across one in the Hells, assume that they are hostile.”

“Understood, Director.” Hardly a hassle at all. I wondered who else was killing off Hunters if it wasn’t me. Two left on my list and I’d leave the rest alone. Still four demons to work through, which seemed like a slog with the end of the world coming up.

“Fantastic.” Partridge clapped his hands together. “Onto the second matter to address - your performance in offing Gunther.”

I found myself nodding through a lot of this conversation. They just needed to know I was paying attention, and I’d only interject when required. It was expected, as much as it was also beneficial to me.

The Director passed him a brown folder, which he opened and then flipped through a few pages.

“Well, you’ve got some huge balls bringing ‘Pearl’ back into the picture.” He snapped the folder shut. “Normally something that would earn you a thick bolt through the side of the head. However, we appreciate the guile and strength to fight for your convictions.”

My expression remained blank. He was keen to skirt over the tainted drugs they had given me to force me to execute her. I had survived since without taking any of the Org meds, which was a feat upon itself. The fact that they couldn't put a bolt through my head even if they wanted to was going unsaid.

“You seem to be able to withstand corruption of the Lowers and maintain acquaintance with a Mids demon.” He tilted his head to the side. “An Enforcer at that…” he twitched as though he wanted to make a blue comment about my relations with the demon, but managed to stop himself in the presence of the Director.

“It hasn’t always been easy.” My head bobbed again.

“After taking down Gunther, you had no issue with the Mimics,” the Director said, steepling her fingers. “Our view was limited, but it seemed the four of you together work rather well.”

“Better than most Hunters and their companions,” Partridge agreed. “Although I use that term loosely, as the majority can’t stand other people, let alone working as a proper team.”

I smiled. “That is the strength of humanity, isn’t it? Community and overcoming odds together.”

He rolled his eyes and put the folder back on the desk. “Alright, kiss-ass. I’ll cut to the chase. The Org feels like you are ready for the Mids, and is willing to give you a Quest to cut your teeth.”

“I’m sure you will be briefed thoroughly,” the Director said, a wry smile at the edges of her mouth. “But be aware that there is quite the jump in danger from what you are used to now, along with a mountain further of discretion and nuance to your role.”

“Do not murder the local populace.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Quite.”

“One last formality before we can sign you off for your promotion and give you the Quest, though.” Partridge grimaced toward me, the Director unable to see his expression. “We have to do that test we postponed.”

Once again, I nodded. “Oh, of course.” The alarm bells went off inside my head, but at least I could throw a thick cover over them, and deal with the panic later on. We had time.

The door clicked open and several figures walked in, wheeling a table with some kind of device on it.