But enough of the problems that Respawns bring. How do they work? The process is simple enough. When you are killed, your pattern is transferred to the 'afterlife' the System traps your soul within, managed by whatever 'God' has been assigned to that role by the System. If you have any Respawns remaining, then one planetary rotation later, your pattern is transferred back to and rebuilt at your Respawn point – or, if you do not have one established, at the nearest Temple.

For this reason, it is beneficial to be on good terms with these 'Gods'. They are prisoners of the System just as much as we are, typically have a great deal of knowledge of the System, and once their worshippers are established, a great deal of information on what is actually going on.

Happily, an easy way to gain a god's favour is to build a Temple within your fortification – this not only creates a Respawn point for the unassigned, but also acts as a communications point for the relevant 'god' or 'gods'. The 'gods' frequently offer large benefits, to encourage such creation – we hypothesize it has to do with how they increase in level.

- What you need to know to survive the Voidbound System, By &*%:・%^%

The interior of the fortification continued the theme of a hi-tech castle. The doors – large, imposing doors – appeared to open out into a long corridor, winding and twisting far into the distance, but after only three steps, they were through and entering a glorious hallway, a double spiral staircase winding up floor after floor, climbing into the sky. It was immediately noticeable that said hallway would not fit in the space indicated by the exterior dimensions, which had them trading looks. “What the hell..?” Jon muttered, looking back in confusion at the swarms of people rushing in to seek safety.

“Fuck me, space magic.” Dave replied. “Does this fucking mansion have a max fucking occupancy, Jon?” Jonathon shook his head. “Not that I saw..” in a tone of surprised realization.

“I'm willing to bet that it has as many damn rooms as needed. It's a motherfucking Tardis.” Dave replied: going by the knowledge that flashed into Jonathon's head... that seemed to be correct, which made him wonder what 'Immaculate' Accommodations, that he'd paid so much for, actually did. He pointed Michelle and Larry – who were shepherding the injured – in the direction of the Medical Bay (It was straight through the door between the stairs) and led Frank, and Dave, to the left, into the Temple. Shawn, he pointed up the stairs towards the Accommodations, to get everyone settled.

The Temple was massive, a cathedral in scale, easily the internal dimensions of the external castle, but strangely plain and unadorned: The moment they stepped across the threshold, however, Frank gave a grunt, earning a quizzical look from Dave and Jon. “What?” they asked, more or less in sync.

“The moment we walked in here, I got a notification stating this was an unclaimed Temple, do I wish to claim it for my deity?” his tone rich with irony. Frank flashed a smile and focused for a moment, before shimmering with toxic green light: a mere sideshow, however, compared to the main event.

Azure light cascaded forth from on high, washing over the room: The walls became a gold-flecked marble, the room flexing and distending, growing even larger and developing two wings, each with nine pillars bedecked with Magical symbology – Jon recognised those on one of the pillars to the left as belonging to Life magic. Each wing was large enough for dozens to move within comfortably, the pillars thick and emanating gravitas and magical potency,

A towering statue of a wise looking figure bearing a staff, and a more glorious form of Frank's vestments, grew out of the floor. The metal of the statue flooding with colour, the flesh seeming soft and lifelike, glowing with an inner radiance as eyes of midnight blue gained a liquid appearance, like the statue was truly looking at them. The orb of the staff bursting into a soft, yet glorious azure illumination, a cascade of occult symbols flaring to life in a spiral down its length, and a pool of softly glowing water emerged at his feet, visibly growing deeper and deeper until the bottom could not be seen, and an inner illumination seeming to come from the liquid itself.

Congratulations! Your Fortification 'SanFran Recovery Point' now has a Superior Temple of Maskeline!

Your Fortification gains an Intermediate Mana well!

Your Fortification gains an Intermediate Casting Chamber!

Training benefit of Training Facilities for Magic Disciplines Tripled!

Jonathon blinked at the notifications. “Fuck. He was not kidding about the nice bonuses!” He remarked with a pleased laugh, feeling his Mana pool replenish completely in a matter of moments. He was more than a little startled - much like his companions - at the response to his words. A smooth, melodious voice – with a pronounced, refined English accent, to boot – emanated from the Statue.

“Indeed, My child of Magic. As this Fortification levels, they will grow mightier still! My gift to you, for giving my first Temple on this world a home.” a dataset materialized before Jonathon, who grabbed it before it could fall. The God's azure gaze settled upon Frank. “As for you, my reluctant priest, you stand pre-eminent in my favour. I name you my High Priest, until you find a better supplicant, and reward you for your service in my name, for the struggles you have endured.” With those words, Frank's eyes just widened in shock -

“You can give Respawns?!” he blurted, earning a laugh from the – AI? God? “As a God, I have many that slowly regenerate, so I can gift them to those who earn my favour. As one of my few priests in this world, and the only one with a Temple – you should not find earning my favour overly challenging.” his gaze returned to Dave and Jon – the pair speechless at the presence of this entity, and the sheer amount of Mana filling the room.

“I would have words with my Priest. If you will excuse us, My Sons of the art?” Nodding rapidly – and resisting the urge to bow – Jon led Dave back out, and started helping everyone get organised.

Leaving the temple, they found Shawn directing everyone to the stairs to grab a room – upon seeing Jonathon, he gestured to the medical bay. “Jon! Can you see about spreading some of that healing magic around? The room has stabilised people, but we've got a lot of injured!”

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Jonathon made haste in the direction Shawn indicated, and paused momentarily as he took in the room, as a font of information flooded into his mind. The room itself was coloured an iridescent blue, and easily the size of a major hospital ward: There was a rack, three by three, of pods directly to his left, that he new were the suspended animation systems – controllable by the thoughts of anyone who worked here. Rows of beds – a hundred and forty-four, he knew – were arrayed a four across by thirty-six long pattern, each with a complicated array of equipment built in: He could see several dozen wounded lying on the beds, where the devices had come to life – magical illusions shows maps of their bodies, highlighting exactly what was wrong, and something seemed to be telekinetically working the devices – he knew this was the autodoc that he'd enabled just fifteen minutes ago, though some of the information flashing in his mind was asking for authorisation to use certain treatments – largely, as he took a long moment to parse it, as he took in the bloodshed and misery, requests to use the organ cloning facilities – for some many had been hurt.

He could see a young girl – maybe nine – lying on the closest bed, unconscious and with her arm seemingly torn – or bitten – off: Her mother, weeping beside the bed, looking to him with hope. Dozens of others, a wave of information on their pain and injuries being dumped on him by the facility that he could only make sense of through his magic, as the only person of authority within the facility: shaking his head to clear his mind, he saw an older hispanic woman walking towards him with a look of concern.

“Are you wounded?” she demanded, as grey eyes started looking him over. “You seem unhurt. If you are just here to look, go! We have enough to work with right now!” she spoke with authority – the kind of authority of someone stressed, but used to it: Someone efficient, experienced. In short, in this place – like a Doctor.

Jonathon shook his head. “No. I'm the owner of this place. I came to see how I could help.” his tone urgent, looking into her green eyes. “Look, are you a Doctor?”

She nodded, a little impatiently. “Yes, What gave it away?” she replied – a little impatiently. “Doctor Garcia Richardson. So I have you to thank and blame for this? Can you get the damn equipment to talk to me?”

Jonathon frowned at that, looking at all the prompts before his eyes, and gave a shrug. “Fortification? All organ cloning is authorised.” he tried, speaking to the air: as he did, a neon green shape shimmered into being beside him – it seemed almost indecisive for a moment, before shimmering into a human face modelled after his own.

“Are you addressing me, Lord?” a smooth baritone asked. His appearance – and the way his voice echoed through the room – created more than a little apprehension and startlement amongst those within it, with cries of shock and surprise: Garcia took a step back herself, making the sign of the cross as she did so.

“Yes.” Jonathon replied,, flatly. “If you are the AI I requested. Then for the love of god, please authorise all the organ cloning... and is there any way to give Dr Richardson control here?”

The AI nodded. “Certainly, Lord. Do you wish to appoint her the Medical Administrator?” it looked towards the doctor in question. “And do you, Garcia Richardson, swear loyalty and obedience to Lord Black to serve him in this role?” The words... well, both Jonathon and Dr Richardson exchanged looks: Him of surprise and rapid confusion: Her of rapidly building anger and affront: Jonathon took a step back at the ferocity of her gaze.

“No oaths of loyalty are required! And why do you keep calling me Lord?!” Jonathon exclaimed, clutching at his temples for a moment. “Just.. Make her the medical administrator, okay? No oaths. Nothing.. like that.”

Dr Richardson continued to give him an unamused look, her temper cooling: The AI, on the other hand, frowned. “Are you quire sure, Lord? It is most irregular,not to mention dangerous, to appoint a guest to such a role! The dangers she might present with such authority, why. She could overthrow you quite easily!”

“This is not a god-damn dictatorship. Yes, I'm sure.” Jonathon snapped.

The AI paused for a moment, then nodded. “Congratulations, Garcia Richardson, on your appointment.” it noted, melodiously, as Dr Richardson clutched at her own brow – presumably she was being hit by a similar torrent of data. “And I call you Lord, Lord, because that is your default title as the founders of this outpost. Would you care to select a different one?” In the background, he could see more systems lighting up, Garcia moving off to help her patients now she saw the options available, leaving him to sort this out, it seemed. She had more important things to do – although looking at the room as he took a moment to think, he realised he could probably develop a spell to cure everyone here in one go. The knowledge to do so was literally bubbling at the back of his mind, and he took a moment to sort his thoughts before replying.

“My name is Jonathon. Can you call me that?” he asked, slightly hopefully. “What do I call you?” in the background he could see one of the more critical looking patients shimmer out of existence, as one of the pods to his left lit up – a similar shimmering within: Multiple devices on his right had hummed to life, and within semi-transparent vessels, new organs – limbs, kidneys, lungs – seemed to be rapidly forming out of nothingness. Doctor Garcia was rapidly touching keys that appeared in thin air before her, the control system for the room, he guessed: Rapidly, beds were lighting up, and the medical systems began moving more swiftly, more precisely – even as names started appearing in that venomous green, showing precisely whom was on each bed.

“I am awaiting Designation.” the AI replied. “Your title has been changed and logged. You will be referred to as The Jonathon. Do you require anything else, The Jonathon?”

The AI's words caused Jonathon to rub at his temples again: He'd had a long day, his reduced need for sleep notwithstanding, and he did not need this right now. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.” he snapped. “It's Jonathon. Not The Jonathon. Correct yourself. And I will call you Jeeves.”

“Designation logged.” Jeeves replied. “And at this point, Jonathon, I am less than one Standard Hour old. Please have patience as my heuristics continue to form.” The neon green man bowed slightly. “I should be running at your equivalent capacity in four more Standard Hours.”

Jonathon sighed. “Gotcha. Dismissed, for now.” glancing around the room once more, Doctor Garcia seemed to have everything well in hand and he headed back out to find Shawn. His boss – or former boss, as the case may be – was still in the hallway, directing the last of the stragglers into the domiciles, and looked up as Jonathon approached.

“Everyone who can is heading off to sleep. I'm organising a meeting tomorrow, we can discuss our next steps? This place seems secure for now, though some Green ghost keeps saying I can't assign permanent rooms without the approval of Lord Black. Is there something I should know?” His tone was tired, stressed, but still showed that certain level of wry humour his boss was known for.

Jonathon groaned. “I got that sorted out. Jeeves? As with the Doctor, give Shawn the necessary privs to assign rooms? No arguments.” There was an inaudible sense of grumbling, as neon green lights shimmered around Shawn for a moment, Then Shawn was clutching at his head.

“Damn.. Right.” he shook his head for a moment, as Jonathon looked on with a degree of sympathy: The fortification data dumps felt rather like a cross between a hangover and brain freeze for a few seconds, and he was hoping Jeeves would get better at that when he matured. A glowing green screen appeared before Shawn, and he rapidly hit a few keys, causing a display of rooms to flash iridescent blue for a moment, then change from neon green to neon blue. “That's everyone permanently assigned the room they are in.. and you, Lord Black..” he gave Jonathon a look, “Have the imperial suite by default, apparently. Have fun. I think..." he hit some keys, and a neon blue orb appeared. “Should guide you to your room.” hitting a few more keys, everyone else still waiting – perhaps a dozen people – exclaimed, and started following their own balls of light. “Sleep well, Everyone!” Shawn called, ambling off to sleep himself, Jonathon presumed: It had been a long day.

Following his own orb of light, he was led to a sub level, doors opening into a cavernous space that he barely noticed as he fell into bed, entering a thankfully dreamless sleep, too exhausted for the nightmares of today to surface in his mind.