Power doesn't inherently corrupt; it's the person's character and values that matter. Those with strong moral principles and responsibility are less likely to abuse their power, regardless of its magnitude – unknown

Operation Menu: Lunch Phase, (D-Minus 96 hours)

The Thornewoods stepped through the glass door and into a restaurant. The interior was adorned with lavish gold accents that gracefully complemented the deep, enchanting hues of emerald green, evoking a sense of timeless luxury.

The ambient lighting, carefully diffused, created an inviting and intimate atmosphere, casting a warm glow on the plush furnishings and ornate decor. The walls were adorned with intricate artwork of country life and mirrors that added to the size of the main dining room.

T.C. said, “If we can hang on to this territory till the end of the season, think they will change the color scheme to blue?”

Estelle, Tauru, Heather, Whisper, and Indigo remained silent. As they made their way through the restaurant, they passed through an arrangement of vacant chairs and unoccupied tables, each meticulously arranged to maintain a sense of grandeur even in their absence.

“Madam Thornewood, party of…” said a waiter that appeared from an adjoining room.

“Six,” she said cutting him off.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” he said smiling and giving her a slight bow.

He turned on the back of his heels and went into another room. Estelle and the others waited silently till he returned.

“This way,” he said opening the door for them.

They trailed the waiter into a windowless room, where four long tables were neatly arranged. As they passed, they noticed a group of five people, each with striking similar facial features, keeping their gaze fixed on the floor and lips buttoned up.

Heather commented, "The NPCs seem more lifelike this year, no uncanny valley effect or anything."

Indigo chimed in with an explanation, "That's because the higher-ups in charge of Battle City are using an Alpha-7 Living Computer to generate non-player interactions, responses, and mini-quests. They call it the Majestic Protocol."

T.C. and Heather halted, their gazes fixed on Indigo.

Heather asked as she caught up to Indigo, "So, what you just mentioned is something only known to upper management. By the way, what do you do in the real world?"

Before Indigo could respond, Estelle interjected, "It's not our concern what others do during the Battle City off-season."

Heather clenched her lips in annoyance as the group moved past a lively table where people were laughing and chatting, their voices filling the room with laughter and talk.

A waitress, dressed in a sleek pencil skirt and a crisp white shirt, stood near a well-fed balding man who seemed to have monopolized her attention. The waitress glanced at Estelle with doe-eyes as the balding man inquired about the available red wine options.

The waiter led the group past an unoccupied food station and guided them to a long table. As he attempted to pull a chair back for Estelle, she gestured towards a table at the far end of the room and shook her head frowning.

With a nod, the waiter collected the plates and glasses and moved them to the newly designated spot. Meanwhile, the lively chatter and laughter of other guests filled the air as Estelle and her companions settled into their seats.

T.C. remained standing and said, “Thank you, everyone. I appreciate you coming to my briefing. We are now at the second phase of Operation Menu, Phase Lunch.”

Heather coughed and asked, “Should we really be discussing this in front of the NPCs?”

"I... well, umm," T.C. stuttered.

Estelle extended her hand and activated a few screens. After pressing a few buttons, she waved her hand again and nodded to T.C. to continue.

“Oh, okay beginning Lattice Encryption, one second please,” T.C. said tapping this finger to his throat. “NGHIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJL.”

Estelle watched T.C. for a moment and then turned her attention to the waitress who was being uncomfortably touched by a man. The waitress tried to move away, but he grabbed her apron strings and pulled her back.

"So, when my son and his bride-to-be arrive," said the man, looking over at the family sitting at another table, "What wine do you recommend for the lunch buffet? Should we go with a nice house wine or…umm Pinot Noir? How's the…Cabernet?"

Estelle reached up into the air and as if plucking an invisible apple from a tree she whispered, “Plúkka epli af tré.”

“OHIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJL,” T.C. said as the others nodded.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Memories of the NPC’s life filled her mind. His name was Peter Archibald Rachman, and inherited vast properties in and around Battle City. He spends his days indulging in lavish parties and extravagant lifestyles, caring little for the properties he and his family manage. Often laughs at the dilapidated condition of his apartments in front of his renters.

The betrothal engagement party was to announce the day of the “blessed” event. Behind his back, his family called him “Mr. Turkey”. Estelle stopped the flow of data and waved it away with a flick of her wrist.

The waitress looked over at Estelle with sad eyes, but she turned her attention back to T.C. who was still talking.

“Mustn’t get involved,” she muttered under her breath.

T.C. glanced at the empty glasses, then back at the waitress, and sighed. He reached into a bag and tossed a leather scroll onto the center of the table, unrolling it.

“PIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLM,” he said, pointing to the characters inscribed on the scroll.

He pulled out an ink bottle and poured it on top of the leather, then waved his fingers around as the ink swirled and transformed into terrain features and outlines of buildings on the map.

“QJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMN,” T.C. said, pointing to a mountain on the map.

T.C. placed his fist close to the map and opened his hand up, the ink moved and zoomed in closer.

He pointed to a square on the map that was on the side of the mountain and said, “RLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQ.”

Estelle rested her chin on her hand and continued to watch Peter and the rest of the wedding party.

Giving a long-drawn-out sigh, she said, “Once we declare the Iron Mine a battle zone, the crew garrisoned there will begin patrolling the inside of the mine. How will you account for the upgraded security precautions?”

T.C. grinned back at her and said, “SMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHIJLMNQU!”

“Correction,” Estelle said. “Indigo will be the distraction. My presence is required to deal with more pressing matters.”

“CBAKRYPTOSAB!” snapped T.C.

“Language T.C.!” Heather said. “But you’re right, what the H E double-hockey sticks, Estelle. What’s more important than being with us?”

“Guarding the Azure Headquarters,” Estelle said without looking at anyone from the crew.

“Why? None of the other teams declared Azure a battle zone,” snapped Heather.

Indigo frowned and said, “They want to bury her.”

“EMUFPHZL?” asked T.C.

"It's a tactic used by the Council to handle unruly players. Stick them with pointless duties so they don't build any experience, or..." Indigo said, frustration evident in her voice.

“Morte per excommunicationem,” Estelle said picking up a napkin and tossing it back on the table.

“Death by excommunication,” said Tauru. “That’s harsh, Boss Kitty.”

Estelle turned her attention back to the wedding party. T.C. sat down in his chair and slumped over. The waitress tried to step away, but the man grabbed her hand. Tauru and Heather began discussing solutions to the sudden development. Indigo started asking questions about the map, while T.C. did his best to answer them. The voices of the Thornewoods and the wedding party droned on and on in Estelle’s head, eventually resembling the buzz of noisy insects.

Estelle's eyes were unfocused, and a distant look swept across her face.

"I don't care if they are plebs," she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration and sorrow.

Memories flooded back, taking her to a time when she had voiced concerns to her mother. She felt her heart sink and began to growl under her breath.

"Someone needs to do something, Mother," she whispered getting up from the table.

“Shit, she’s doing it again,” Tauru said getting up from the table. “Hey everyone, back her move.”

Estelle moved to Peter's side of the room, her steps deliberate and composed. With practiced ease, she eased into the chair at the head of the table. Tauru and the others took their seats, and Peter and his family stared back.

Her hands rested calmly on the armrests, concealing the slight tremor that threatened to betray her. Crossing her legs, she focused on her breathing, determined to stay in control. Though her face remained seemingly placid, underneath the façade, memories from the past clawed at the edges of her mind, trying to break free.

As the conversation around the table died down, Estelle masked the turmoil within, summoning all her strength to maintain her composure. She was the leader, and she couldn't afford to show weakness, even in the face of her haunting past.

Peter's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening, but he held his tongue. A silent fury simmered within him, his hand balling into a fist, trembling with restrained emotion.

"As Matriarch of the Thornewood family," Estelle's words dripped with icy composure, "I graciously accept your invitation to join you and your entourage."

She avoided meeting his gaze, her focus seemingly fixed on something distant.

"This... is a private party and you are sitting in…" Peter began to protest.

"The appropriate seat," Estelle interrupted, her gaze locking firmly with his. "As Matriarch of the Nakatomi territory, it’s one's obligation to always sit at the head of the table."

Her eyes bore into his, unyielding and resolute. She held his gaze, unwavering, until he finally looked away, conceding to her authority.

“For now,” Peter muttered under his breath.

The guests sitting at the other table averted their gazes, avoiding the glare of Mr. Rachman. In frustration, he threw his napkin down on the floor and stormed off toward the restroom.

The waitress exchanged a subtle smirk with Estelle, she smiled while she took the drink orders from the new arrivals. Meanwhile, Heather frowned at the elderly man's behavior and shook her head disapprovingly at Estelle.

"What makes you any better than that slumlord?" Heather asked, nodding towards the direction Mr. Rachman had gone.

"One should use power and influence to balance the scales; not enrich themselves," she said, her words laced with cold determination.

Estelle arranged her fork and knife on the table and held out her hand to T.C.

“Please Tunnel Cat, continue,” she said.

“LEFGHIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGH,” T.C. said snickering and continued. “MFGHIJLMNQUVWXZKRYPTOSABCDEFGHI.”

***