Southern California
What were the ethics of changing how a person thought?
Bad?
Yes?
What if you changed them for the better?
And who could judge what better meant?
Turn a murderer into a non-murderer?
Surely, that was a good thing?
Why would he stop at one in that case?
Make it so that no one could do bad things.
Well, maybe that’s why he hadn’t tried to find out if he was even capable of fundamentally altering the way people thought. Slippery slopes and that sort of thing.
Cal looked through several layers of iron bars and shatterproof glass at the unassuming young woman. So small and thin, yet so dangerous.
The modified bank vault that had been Holly, the Slasher’s home for the last 3 years remained as empty and devoid of personality as the day they had imprisoned her inside of it. Not that he hadn’t tried. He had given her the option to decorate and add any personal touches that might’ve made it a little less like the cell it was and a bit more like a studio apartment. He had hoped treating her like a human being would’ve been helpful at rehabilitation, at putting her on a path to remove her murderous class.
Many different therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, behavioral health specialists and such had tried their hand. All had failed.
Holly was as she had been since the day Cal had put an end to her murder spree.
Still, they hadn’t given up.
The daily sessions continued.
Until this day.
Holly watched him blandly. She hadn’t reacted with any outward indication of surprise at his appearing instead of the doctor scheduled for her session.
Her mind, however, was different.
There was a tiny bit of surprise, followed by a hunger brought on by her class stirring from dormancy.
She remained silent as she regarded him.
He knew that she was marking vulnerable points on his body for her knife with all the dispassion of a butcher marking the next carcass hanging on the hook.
“Finished?”
“How do you do that?” Holly said flatly.
“What?”
“You’re different from everyone else I’ve ever seen. No soft spots for me to pierce.”
He shrugged.
“Are you even real?” a slight crease formed on her smooth forehead.
Child-like. Though, not in the eyes.
That flat stare that failed to see him and any other human being as like her. Holly was a singular existence in her mind. She wasn’t like anyone else and they weren’t like her. All separate, without anything to share. Simply things to end to feed her class. To her, taking a life was akin to eating a bag of chips.
“Real enough the last time I checked. Just like you, two eyes, ears, a nose, two arms connected to a body, connected to two legs. A brain, thoughts, hopes, dreams, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie, we both know that you have those too.”
Nothing in her reactions.
No spike in anger or the urge to object on principle.
His words might as well have been the bleating of a sheep to her.
He stared at her in silence for several minutes. Her eyes never left his.
Was this a mistake? What he intended?
All the justifications and rationalizations that he had wrestled with over the last several weeks ran through his mind. A familiar refrain, a well-trod path that took him back to where he stood.
Did he really need her for his plans?
Wise counsel had been split.
Some thought that it was a terrible idea.
Others agreed.
Unleash the murderer, the Slasher, on the slavers.
Conscience-free killing, as some had said, but what did they know? They were young and all they had known was the violence of the post-spires world.
Some had argued that the world before the spires had been just as, if not worse. They had just been fortunate to live in places without that casual cruelty and violence where they could readily see it.
“I will release you.”
A barely perceptible arch of her brow.
“You will follow rules.”
“I’m not your assassin,” she said after a moment.
“Then you can stay here and continue your therapy sessions,” he turned.
“Wait…”
A spike of eagerness and… yes… hope.
Holly wasn’t quite the inhuman murder machine.
That the hope was tied to finally getting to sink her knife into a person’s neck made his skin crawl.
It was never pleasant to take in such thoughts.
He turned back.
“The rules?”
“If I don’t?”
“I’ll put you back in this place.”
No other threat, not to her life, had even the slimmest hold on her.
“You will never leave it. One instant. I will tolerate nothing except for the strictest adherence to the rules.”
She stared at him. That brief flash of emotion a distant memory.
“You will kill only those that deserve it.”
Coward, he thought. Use the right word. What you mean for her to do isn’t to kill in the heat of battle. What you mean for her to do is murder. Cold, calculated. Murder to remove threats and obstacles. Never mind that you’re trying to free over ten thousand enslaved people.
“And you’ll decide who I get to knife?” she said.
“At times. At other times you’ll be free to choose your target according to strict guidelines.”
“Your guidelines?”
“Yes.”
“I agree,” she said without hesitation.
There was never going to be any other answer.
Three years trapped, Holly could only have agreed to the chance to feed her class.
“Who do you want me to murder? Multiple people from what you’re saying. Enemies, obviously… but, what kind?”
“Slavers.”
The word felt hollow on his tongue.
A slight smile split her lips revealing perfect, white teeth.
“Oh, so that makes it okay to you,” she nodded. “Makes sense… you wouldn’t let me out to murder innocent people. Only bad people, definitely evil people.”
Perhaps he had been wrong.
Perhaps they had both been wrong.
She had found a vulnerability after all.
“Okay,” she nodded again, “give me your guidelines. I wouldn’t want to stray from the road you’ve set out for me. I wouldn’t want to accidentally cut up the wrong person now that I’m to be your knife.”
“I’ll have the pages sent to you,” he said. “Read them carefully, memorize them. There will be test. Fail and our agreement is void.”
With those words he left Holly, the Slasher, the murderer to her solitary cell.
The bank vault’s heavy door groaned and closed with a thud.
The bolts locked in place with the heavy sound of finality.
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Pryce glanced at the fire place.
A brief thought that he’d rather enjoy its warmth with a glass of whisky than being in his current situation.
True, he had the fire and the whisky, unfortunately he also had to sit with his withered father and a slavemaster of all things. The fact that the class existed offended him on a level he hadn’t known existed.
All the possibilities that the spires brought and some bastards out there decided that it was a good idea to go back centuries to one of his country’s darkest sins.
Pryce glanced at his father.
He suddenly felt old.
Closing in on 50 and in the best shape of his life thanks to training and a class, yet here he sat. His father reminded him of the old world in the way the old man clung to it and all its faded privileges.
The irony that his father had failed to realize was that they were no less richer than they had been. They had the same mansions. The same expensive cars in the garage. The gold, the silver, the cash hidden in multiple safes. He was certain that their valuables in all their different banks were still there. Sure, they lost things like stocks, the value of their real estate investments, tenant rent, so on and so forth. Yet, he found that he didn’t care, not like his father.
Nothing cost anything anymore and that fact had broken his father.
It took years for Pryce to realize this about the once intimidating old man.
“You see the perfection of the collars!” the Slavemaster beamed at the young woman pouring Pryce’s father a drink.
The old man leered.
“They are truly happy to serve,” the Slavemaster continued.
“No thanks,” Pryce held up a hand to forestall the dark-skinned beauty in a dress that was too tight and too short for his comfort. The entire thing revolted him in a way that he found surprising.
The young woman gave him a guileless smile before carefully shuffling on those high heels to stand behind the Slavemaster’s chair.
“I must say, not to offend,” the Slavemaster said, “I was surprised to find that you didn’t have servants of your own,” he regarded the opulent living room, “you have wealth and power.”
“It’s the damn socialists!” Pryce’s father spat. “They made everything free. Anyone can just live in any empty house they want. They can get whatever they want from all of the stores. No one has to work for a living like God intended. Not like how it used to be.”
“The rangers?” the Slavemaster nodded.
“Will not find your slaves to their liking,” Pryce said with forced calm. He didn’t find them to his liking.
“Essential workers or employees, if you will. That’s what they are. Slave is not only an ugly term, but inaccurate. Our essential workers are happy to wear the collar, as you can see. As I hope to prove to all those I visit.”
“But you didn’t meet with the rangers?” Pryce knew that another representative of this New America Republic had gone to Kayl. He wondered if that one was still in one piece.
“Yes. That duty fell to a colleague of mine. A recruiter for our Freedom Championships, as I’ve already spoken to you about. I am merely here to speak to like-minded individuals. Those that understand the past glory and greatness of this country and the importance of recapturing it once again. That is why our king formed the New American Republic after all. With the aid of people like you across this once great nation… well… we can all be great again, together!”
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
“Here here!” Pryce’s father raised a withered, shaking hand to clink glasses with the Slavemaster.
“You do understand that the rangers will have problems with that?” Pryce said.
“Of course. People with power tend to resist losing it.”
Hypocrite, Pryce thought. Am I this man’s mirror? He glanced at his father. He certainly is.
“Do you have any idea what kind of people you’re facing here?” Pryce said.
The Slavemaster’s easy smile didn’t leave his face as he raised a hand. “My apologies. You misunderstand. Violence is a last resort for us. We will simply show people why life as citizens of our nation is better than all other alternatives.”
“Listen, I’m not gonna spy for you,” Pryce said. “The rangers will know, they probably already know that you’re here.”
“Pryce, shut—” his father began.
“No, Dad. We’re not doing this.”
“I’m sorry, you misunderstand me again. I had no intention of asking you to spy for us right now. I simply wanted to introduce myself and meet like-minded individuals. And perhaps leave this,” he placed a thin, silver rod on the table, “and them with you,” he gestured to the two collared young women.
Pryce studied the silver rod. It was as long as his arm and as big around as his thumb. Faint lines, intricately-carved into the surface seemed to glow with power.
Magic?
That magitech stuff that was hard to get a hold of?
He reached for the rod then stopped. “It controls them?”
“I hesitate to use the word…”
Pryce nodded in understanding.
“Can it free them?”
He had heard about the collars through his informants. Although, he was pretty sure that the information he got was what the rangers allowed.
One couldn’t free a slave without either the collar exploding or their minds being destroyed.
Though, that didn’t explain why there were about a hundred former slaves without exploded heads or ruined minds now part of their community.
“No,” the Slavemaster laughed. “It’s forever.”
The words were pronounced with all the certainty of the arrogant.
A lie or ignorance? Pryce thought. He considered entertaining the man. Be a spy, but not in the way the Slavemaster thought. He could learn everything he could about the slavers. Give it to the rangers. Slavery had to be stopped. A dangerous game. One he realized that he didn’t have the stomach for.
Did age strip him of his ambition?
Or did he realize that it wasn’t his to begin with.
He glanced at the withered husk of his father.
Old man… it was all yours, he thought. I don’t even know what I want. Bitterness seeped into him. Almost half a century of life and he didn’t know himself. All he’d done was live as his father expected. Just like the collared young women, smiling down at him with the promise of whatever he wanted them to be.
That’s what people like his father, the Slavemaster wanted. Control. Their kind couldn’t fathom existence without someone else to step on.
A sudden urge to grab the Slavemaster’s head and slam it into the table. Grab the control rod and try to free the women. That was something at least.
Instead, he looked over at Derek standing protectively at the archway.
A slight nod, a prearranged signal.
Derek silently moved away.
The Slavemaster didn’t notice.
“I’m not going to lie,” Pryce began. He had to be honest in world where truth spells and Skills existed. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the slavemaster occasionally glanced at a diamond-encrusted watch and the slight twinkling of those tiny gems. “There’s no way we can be spies for you—”
“Again with that word—”
“Information procurers, whatever word you want. It doesn’t matter. You don’t understand the rangers. It can’t work.” Pryce thought about Rayna’s brother more than the actual rangers. His gut told him that man was already doing or planning something in regards to the slavers. He wondered about the timeline. They had been aware of the slavers for several years now. Maybe they hadn’t acted because the rangers had been engaged in that terrible war with the undead pouring out of San Diego. With that victory a few months past, perhaps they’d turn their attention to the other coast.
“Okay, I won’t speak on that for now. Maybe at a future date. For now, will you let me speak about the greatness of my nation?”
“Pryce, there’s no harm in simple talk. Those bitches can’t complain about us entertaining a guest,” his father said.
Pryce nodded. Talk all you want. I wonder if you’ll keep the smile on your face when you have your chat with Rayna, he thought. Slavery might be legal in your N.A.R. but you aren’t there, are you?
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Rayna touched down on the mansion’s enormous driveway.
She had only brought two rangers along.
“Sir, those fu— bastards aren’t even touching their weapons,” Sgt. Mouthy said.
“Seems that they were being honest. Not that they have the guts to try anything,” Sgt. Aims said.
Pryce’s fighters stared, pointedly keeping their hands off their weapons.
The two enslaved fighters standing outside the front door were another matter.
One brandished a spear from behind his large, rectangular shield.
The second held a smaller, circular shield and pointed a hand toward Rayna.
“They’re so fu— goddamn stupid bringing enslaved here,” Sgt. Mouthy shook her head.
“Remember, the enslaved are innocent in this.”
“That’s true, Sir, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Those hundred got their licks in before we could subdue them,” Sgt. Aims said.
“Lucky we didn’t lose anybody,” Sgt. Mouthy agreed. “Would’ve gone smoother if your brother had been around to put them to sleep.”
“Yeah, well, he had to fly to Montana on short notice,” Rayna sighed. Why did she feel the need to defend her brother? They were all grown adults. “Let’s get this done with.”
“On it, Sir,” Sgt. Aims said.
“Hey! You poor bastards!” Sgt. Mouthy barked. “Drop the weapons and no magic, either!”
“What is this?” the enslaved woman, a mage of some kind said warily. “We’re on a diplomatic mission. We’ve done nothing to give offense.”
“Poor bastards don’t even know what’s wrong,” Sgt. Mouthy muttered.
“Slavery is illegal,” Sgt. Aims said.
Rayna almost said that she was going to get those collars off them. Free them. She knew a guy. Well, Cal did. A surly giant of a man that threw around red lightning and conjured storms. Sadly, from experience those words sent the collared into a rage. Truly evil, whomever made the collars was truly evil.
“Just drop your weapons and we’ll resolve this peacefully,” Rayna said.
“No,” the enslaved man said. “Lunging Thrust!” he covered the large distance with surprising quickness. The spear reached for her throat like a striking viper.
He managed to catch the rangers off guard. He must’ve been pretty high level. Had to be to cross Monsterland USA in one piece.
Rayna blinked.
The spear and the man stopped.
Gravity altered around him. He floated in a slow orbit around Rayna and the rangers.
“Agony Wave!” the enslaved woman snarled.
Dark, coruscating energy lashed out from the woman’s hand.
Pure pain washed over Rayna, the rangers and the helpless enslaved man.
Rayna clenched her teeth and almost dropped to a knee.
The enslaved man howled.
The two rangers dropped to the hands and knees.
“Mouthy!” Sgt. Aims managed to grunt.
The burly sergeant, the Ranger of Grief, bit back a curse. “I Take Your Pain!” she roared.
Mouthy thrashed as the others exhaled in sudden relief, like a gulp of cool water after a hike through a scorching desert.
“That spell felt familiar,” Sgt. Aims gasped.
“More confirmation of what we already knew. We’ve got old enemies in the slaver kingdom,” Rayna said.
The enslaved woman raised her hand to throw another spell.
Rayna pointed.
Gravity engulfed the enslaved woman forcing her to the ground. Her hands and face pressed down by just enough weight that she didn’t have the strength to overcome.
“Pain Is Strength!” the enslaved woman grunted.
“None of that.” Rayna increased the downward force. “Sgt. Mouthy, you okay?”
“Yeah, Sir, I am.” Sgt. Mouthy rose and shook her head. “Jesus-fucking-Christ stick, that was worse than I remember.”
“I guess waves are stronger than bolts,” Sgt. Aims said.
“Can you go inside and secure this Slavemaster and his two women,” Rayna scowled. She had no doubt what that disgusting man used those poor enslaved for.
“Yeah, Sir,” Sgt. Mouthy took a deep breath.
Her class made her enduring for all her ranger sisters and brothers she had lost, for all that she would lose, until it was her turn to have her name carved into the wall.
Pryce’s fighters gave the rangers a wide berth as they walked into the mansion.
It didn’t take long.
Rayna heard the sounds of a brief scuffle.
Then Sgt. Mouthy appeared with two young women in too tight dresses in headlocks, one under each arm. They bit and scratch like cats at scarred, muscled arms.
“Bit of trouble there, sergeant?” Rayna nodded at the small, red welts on Sgt. Mouthy’s cheeks.
“Hardly any, ma’am.” Sgt. Mouthy dragged the two young woman into Rayna’s orbit.
She took hold of them and sent them to join the enslaved spear-wielder.
It was disconcerting to see the pure hatred in their eyes as they futilely tried to reach for her.
Sgt. Aims followed with the Slavemaster, one hand roughly pulling the man while the other pressed a revolver into the man’s ribs, hard.
“What is the meaning of this? I’m a diplomat—”
“Slavery is illegal. You’re being arrested,” Rayna said flatly.
“I brought a hundred of the strongest soldiers of the land. They’ll—”
“Already dealt with,” Sgt. Aims said lightly.
“Lies…” the Slavemaster paled. “I have diplomatic immun—” he tried.
“This isn’t Die Hard,” Sgt. Aims tightened his grip as he brought the Slavemaster to stand before Rayna.
“Free them,” she said.
“Impossible,” the Slavemaster scoffed. “The collars can’t be removed. Perhaps the king can, but no one has ever asked. Look at them!” he spat. “Do they look like they want your freedom?”
“You messed with their minds, fuckstick!” Sgt. Mouthy growled.
“This is an act of war!” the Slavemaster thrust a finger in Rayna’s face, which earned him a hard poke with the barrel of Sgt. Aims’ revolver. The man’s face twisted in pain. “War—”
“Will it be that?” Rayna said. “War…” she mused, “with slavers…”
“The New America Republic won’t be bullied! I have rights! The finest soldiers. The most powerful man will answer this insult.”
“Doubt it, but I hope you keep your promise,” Rayna said.
“I’ll knock the mage out,” Sgt. Mouthy said.
With that Rayna took them to the sky.
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“His hair’s getting long. You should cut it.”
“Why? I like the wavy-ness. It looks cute, just like you,” Nila ran a hand over Cal’s closely cropped hair, “until you chopped it all off.”
“Long hair is just going to be a hassle on the Quest.”
“He thought you were mad at him, you know?”
“What?” he said in alarm.
“Thought that’s why you cut your hair.”
“Damn it. I’ll have to postpone my departure. I’ll tell him tomorrow when he wakes up… or—”
“You’re not waking him up, Cal. Saying goodbye once was bad enough. Besides, I already got him to understand that you cut your hair for the Quest.”
“A sensitive soul our son,” he nodded.
“Takes after me—” they echoed each other.
Nila raised a brow.
“I’m not saying you aren’t sensitive, but I literally need to put effort into keeping everyone’s thoughts and emotions out of my head. Otherwise, I’d be feeling all your emotions all the time.” He effected a pompous tone. “I’d daresay I am the most sensitive person alive, most.”
“Ah, but you do a good job at that. Plus, that’s cheating. So, clearly he takes that from me,” she nodded, smug, satisfied. She tightened her embrace around his stomach. “Do you really have to bring her?”
The same argument.
Though it wasn’t much of one.
“Yeah. She’s the only one I can take for this.”
“What about Dayana? Or any of a dozen rangers? I heard Bennett was thinking of going. Rino and Kare are definitely going. You know any number of stealthy killers you can ask instead of a murderer.”
“That’s just it. They might be killers, but they aren’t murderers and I don’t want to turn them into that,” he sighed.
“The Furies keep going on and on about the conscience-free killing to be had. I had to yell at them. He’s old enough to understand that sort of thing. God… it was like I was channeling my mother. When did I get old?”
“The passage of time does that… urk!” he gasped at the sudden tightening of Nila’s arms. She had the strength to bend metal pipes. “Er… what I meant to say is that chronologically, yes, time passes unabated. However, physically you look at least 10—” another squeeze, “15 years younger. After all age is just a number. The most important thing is how you look… er… feel.”
“Easy for you to say. You haven’t changed since the spires appeared. Over 15 years. I’m aging, even if it is slow.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
That’s all he felt that he needed to say.
“You’re going to miss his birthday, Halloween, Christmas and New Year’s.”
“I know… that’s why I recorded all those messages.” He stared at his son. Almost 6, probably. Definitely not a clone. The tests, magic, scientific and a mix of the two had all agreed. The boy was his own independent human being. Not Cal’s biological son though, even if the little guy looked it. “Listen, Nila this is very important,” he paused. “If he wants to cut his hair short, let him.”
“Fine,” she sighed.
“Well…” he turned and planted a kiss on her lips, savoring the feel of her soft lips, “I have to go. Need to pick up Tlaloc before heading to Miami.”
Nila scowled.
“What?”
“That man isn’t a god. He has a real, human name.”
“He doesn’t remember.”
“Sure…”
“Look… he’s a huge dick, but he’s been a great ally with this slavery thing. Single-handedly broke, like, a hundred and fifty collars. Those people get to live free because of him.”
“I don’t trust someone carrying themselves as a god.”
“I need his help,” Cal shrugged.
“Just be careful around him and her. They won’t care for your well-being.”
“Listen, there’s a path were this whole thing will be over faster than expected. Ms. Teacher is, like, 90% sure that her magic crystal thing will work. If I can find the central control unit for all the rods and collars then I can disrupt the connection long enough to kill the Slaver King, which should destroy the whole system without killing the enslaved or shredding their minds.”
“That’s a huge if. You still don’t know what the central unit is or if one even exists.”
“Ms. Teacher is 80% sure there is one. I’m going to find it. With the chaos Holly will cause and the chaos of this stupid tournament I’ll be free to use my powers. I won’t have to be as wary about triggering the defensive magics and Skills in the collars, control rods, slavemasters and the king.
“Make them pay, then, but you better come back. I’m too young to be a widower raising a boy all by myself. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Never.”
One last kiss.
He ruffled the sleeping boy’s unruly hair.
He walked to the balcony, fixed the images of his family into his memory then took to the night sky.
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Congratulations!
You have received a Quest.
Destroy the Slaver Kingdom (New American Republic).
Free the enslaved.
Success Parameters: Multi-part Quest. Contingent on completion of attached Quests.
Rewards: 10 Million Universal Points.
Bonus Reward(s): Contingent on performance.