“Down these mean streets must go a man, who is not himself mean. Who is neither tarnished, nor afraid. He is the hero; he is everything.” - Raymond Chandler -
“Nate!” James called out as he entered the kitchen. He did so without flourish, giving a short rap on the swinging doors before carefully pushing them open. He did this because the last time he’d kicked the door in and strode in like a cowboy out of the old west, he’d almost nailed Ann in the face and only sharp reflexes on a camraconda had saved her a headache.
“Get out of my kitchen.” The gruff chef said, not turning around from the pot of soup he was pouring a roux into.
“I’ve got a question for you, and also this is *my* kitchen.” James retorted. Nate shot him a *look* over his shoulder, and James paused. “Alright, we’ll share custody of the kitchen.” He reconsidered. “Anyway…”
“What’s the question?”
“Well, I’m looking for advice from someone who was in the intelligence community, and I don’t think that DeKay is going to want to hear this particular question. Also she’s not here. So… hm. How do I put this…?” James thought for a second, hopping up to sit on the stainless steel counter while he scratched at his chin. “What… as an estimate… what would happen if the world’s nuclear weapons all went away tomorrow?”
Nate froze for a split second, tensing up so suddenly he wasn’t sure if Knife-In-Fangs had hit him with his look. He tried not to show it, though, and instead pivoted to keep an eye on James, who was now eating one of the slices of cake off the speed rack. He didn’t complain about the cake; technically, that *was* for anyone. “Went away *how*?” Nate asked. “Like, if nukes stopped working? It would take a while for people to notice; most countries only do one test a year, unless it also disrupts nuclear powerplants. Or are you talking about, like, if everyone lost all their nukes and it was publicly known?”
“Let’s say either, for now.”
“Okay, well.” Nate hooked the ladle he was holding onto the side of the soup pot. “For the first one? Once someone notices, they probably start a war of expansion. There’s four or five countries - and you already know which ones they are - that basically only don’t try to take over the world because they can’t stop nuclear strikes. So someone’s going to launch a preemptive conventional attack, and the global scene is going to go fuckin’ crazy.” He sighed. “There’s a guess for the death toll of a third world war, but I can’t remember what it is exactly. Something like twenty percent of the planet, though. Assuming no nukes.” Nate pointed a meaningful look at James and added “If everyone lost their bombs and they all know it? Then it’s a lot worse. Panic, riots. The kind that lead to famine in a year or two. It’ll get ugly.”
“Ooof. Okay.” James winced around a mouthful of chocolate cake. “Alright, what if, *purely hypothetically*, a hypothetical third party announced that they had, somehow, stolen all the nukes?”
Nate reminded himself, as calmly as possible, that he wasn’t allowed to strangle his boss to death. Though *maybe* it would be one of those ‘ends justify the means’ things, in this case. “Whoever thought giving you access to teleportation was a good idea was a fucking moron.” The ex-agent groaned. “Please, *please*, do *not* steal nuclear weapons. The only thing that comes out of that is that every single other nuclear power on the planet is going to find this building, and flatten it. There’s no way this situation ends well for us, especially since I seriously won’t believe that you would nuke anyone. Ownership of nuclear weapons for the Order is a target on our backs with no defense for it.”
“Hm. Okay, we’ll have to build up a lot more first then.”
“No, I don’t think I was clear here.” Nate stopped James as his boss dropped off the counter, holding up one hand in a flat motion. “Do not do this. Ever. The only thing it is going to do is disrupt the most dangerous peace the world has ever seen.”
“Shaking up the status quo is our mission statement.” James reminded him.
“You won’t get them all.” Nate said dryly.
“What?”
“The nukes. You won’t get them all. You just won’t. I’ve read the same reports on the telepads that you have. The destination needs to be a specific place, not just a category, unless it’s within line of sight. ‘Next to a nuclear weapon I don’t own’ is a category. I’m sure you could find the addresses for a lot of the silos or bunkers, but are you telling me you can get *every* nuclear armed sub? You aren’t, because if you tried, you’d be lying.” Nate paused for breath, but launched back into his rant before James could get a word in. “Also, you don’t have the manpower to make this a single operation. You’d have to do it in pieces. And that means you’re detected after the first strike. And that means before the end of the day, someone’s going to teleport to a site and get shot to death. How much of the Order are you going to throw away on this?” He sighed, and then thought about who he was talking to. “Also owning a nuke is illegal.”
“The second amendment…”
“No.”
“...Does not…”
“Please stop.”
“...Explicitly prohibit anyone from owning a nuke.”
“Why.”
“I think it’s mostly because the people who wrote the Bill of Rights didn’t actually foresee a world where a single device could cause so much death? But more accurately it’s because the second amendment is, as far as legal historians can agree, more about the formation of something like the National Guard and not about personal weapon ownership. So stuff like artillery pieces or bombs weren’t written out, because obviously a localized military would need to know how to use those.” James shrugged. “Constitutional law is kinda weird that way. A lot of the stuff in there just wasn’t meant for a modern world. Like, the question of ‘what the fuck do we do about the internet’ comes up a *lot*. It’s kind of like if we tried to write laws for a hundred years from now. Would the average lawmaker predict how AI would work? Or, hell, even whether dungeons would be around?” James let out a small laugh. “Oh man, at some point that *is* gonna come up, probably. We’re gonna need *lawyers*!”
“You’re too excited about that.” Nate grumbled. “Also, I wasn’t expecting a real answer there. But it’s good that you’ve thought about that.”
“I read a lot.” James gave his chef-slash-intelligence-advisor a lopsided grin as he turned to leave. “Anyway, I gotta get back. I’m on call for Response.”
Nate nodded back. “Alright. *Now* get out of my kitchen. And don’t steal any nukes! And *do not* ask DeKay about this! Last thing we need right now…” He trailed off. James was already gone. Nate shook his head, turning back to give the soup one last stir before he dropped the heat on it. Without looking, he tapped the excess liquid off the ladle, and pointed it like a lance at the corner of the kitchen where the stock room door was. “And you two, too! No fucking yapping about this!”
“Did not want to interrupt.” Knife-In-Fangs said with perfect innocence, slithering out from where he’d been eavesdropping.
“Yeah, what he said.” Ann added, much less convincingly.
“I’m not kidding.” Nate added seriously. “I know we get away with a lot here, but it’s mostly because we’re not actually ‘a problem’ for anyone. James, armed with a nuke, is suddenly a problem for *everyone*. And those people have predator drones and no ethics. Trust me, I know.”
Ann and Knife-In-Fangs both nodded solemnly, until the camraconda made the digital equivalent of a throat clear, and asked, “What is nuke?”
The two humans looked at their alien coworker, having forgotten for a second that camracondas didn’t actually have history classes or a life of access to the news.
Ann brought her hands together in a single loud clap. “Alright! Buckle up, chucklefuck! Time for war history!”
“Pass.” Nate said. “I’m gonna go smoke. Have fun explaining how we almost wiped out all life on the planet. Twice.”
“Oh, it’s way more than twice.” He heard Ann say as he rolled his eyes and headed for the patio.
____
The ambulance’s siren wailed its looping cry off the nearby buildings. There wasn’t much traffic, and what there was tended to get out of the way fast, so the driver was moving as rapidly as possible toward their destination.
And it wasn’t going to be fast enough.
In the back, a young girl was bleeding out, and the EMTs didn’t have the tools to fix the problem. She needed surgery, and she needed it half an hour ago.
“How much longer?” The shout up to the front was as close to desperate as these professionals let themselves get. They’d been doing this for a long time, both of them, and they both already knew the answer was ‘‘too long’. It would be tragic, and sad, and they’d both independently get very drunk after this, but they also both knew that this kid wasn’t long for the world.
“There’s construction. Gonna take an alternate route.” The driver replied, calm and collected.
“She’s going into shock.” The internal injuries were too much. There was only so much that first aid could do.
“How long?”
“Minutes.”
“Do what you can. I’m gonna try something.”
In the back, the driver’s partner cocked an eyebrow at no one in particular. Try something? Try what? They were too far away from the hospital, and even if they were prepped for surgery *right now*, it would just take too long. And then, from the back of the ambulance, he heard the driver switch the radio over to the bluetooth phone connection they used for music on slow days and lunch breaks.
“Where the hell is it…” His partner’s voice muttered, rustling through pockets. And then, four number presses through the cabin’s speakers.
“Dispatch. What is your emergency?” The voice came through instantly, and the EMT knew for a goddamn fact that wasn’t how dispatch actually talked.
“We’ve got a GSW, victim is between twelve and fourteen, going into shock. Can you… can you help?” For the first time, there was something else in the calm facade of the driver’s voice. Of course, though, no one could help. That would be stupid.
“Your location?” ‘Dispatch’ asked them. No hesitation in *that* man’s voice.
“Passing Watson on TV.” The driver said, and the EMT knew exactly where they were, and exactly how far it was to the hospital.
“Pull over. Cross street if possible.”
“What are you doing?” The EMT asked as he felt the ambulance slow to a crawl, and stop. The driver killed the siren, but kept the lights on. “They’re not going to be any faster!”
The driver’s head appeared as they leaned around their seat to look into the back. “A… a friend of mine told me about this. And she doesn’t have a chance anyway, does she?”
“No.” The EMT admitted.
“Open the back.” The driver said, and told the voice on the phone what street they were parked on.
There were still cars passing on the road next to them. They were pulled over partly onto the gravel shoulder, just before a ditch that was full of dead weeds and a tiny stream of chilled water. Some of the cars would slow down to watch, or get into the opposite lane, both of which were familiar to the EMT. There were no vehicles coming up to them, though. Behind the wagon there was just gravel, and the start of a rapid winter sunset.
And then, there was a snapping of air, and that wasn’t true anymore.
There were three… two people. Three people? Two humans, young men from the looks of their faces, and one… what the fuck was that?
“What the fuck is that?” The EMT whispered. Then, repeated over their shoulder to the driver, “What the fuck is *that*!?”
“Dispatch, there are people in body armor approaching our rig, is that you?” The driver asked, keeping an eye on things through the rearview mirrors.
“That’s us. Don’t panic. Right now, we need some information.”
“Why would we… *what the fuck is that?*” Okay, now the driver was prepared to start worrying a little, as one of the approaching people hoisted what looked like a massive armored snake into the back of their vehicle.
One of the young men hopped into the ambulance behind the snake. He was wearing some kind of black shelled armor, but nothing covering his face. The way he moved was strange; a little too precise, a little too rapid. The EMT had seen him a couple of times scan their surroundings, and the motion he made with his head was clearly enough to see what he needed, but it was so fast it whipped his ponytail around his shoulders like a scarf.
“Sunny, lock down the kid.” The man spoke, and the snake thing reared up over the stretcher.
“Hey, hang on!” The EMT moved to block them, but the young man held up his hands placatingly.
When he spoke, it was clearly with a lot of nerves. The EMT recognized the rookie look in the eye. “Where does she need to be?” He asked.
“Providence surgery.” The EMT said. “But we can’t…” He checked the vitals of the girl. “She’s… she’s gone.”
“She’s not. Simon! Hospital!” The young man called to his partner, who rapidly penned something down onto the notepad in his hand, and then hopped into the back of the ambulance, crowding the space a little too much. “Who’s coming with us?” The rookie asked.
The EMT didn’t understand the question. All he saw was the two new arrivals linking arms, one of them placing a hand on the back of the snake thing, the other reaching out to press a hand to the uninjured shoulder of the girl’s body. But he got the implication. “You have a way to get her there?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go.” The EMT said. The man extended a gloved hand to him, and the EMT took it. The kid was fucking *vibrating*, now that he made contact with him. The EMT wondered, perhaps, if this was more than just a first time nervous reaction.
And then the other one ripped the page from their notepad, and the newcomers, the EMT, the snake, the girl, and the stretcher all disappeared in a crack of rushing air.
“Uh…” The driver, for the first time, didn’t have anything to say. Maybe now was the time for panic? “Dispatch?” They asked tentatively.
“Hold.” The voice came back through the speakers. And then, a second later, “They’ve arrived successfully. Our people will stay with them until surgery can begin. She’ll be okay.” The words were said with a sigh of relief, a warmth spreading through the otherwise calculating conversation.
The driver looked back at the empty bus. “Okay. Good.” They said. “Do you need anything else from me? I need to figure out how to… explain this.”
“Good luck.” The voice of dispatch said. And then the line cleared.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
The driver took a long breath. That was… not what they were expecting? What *were* they expecting, then? If not some magical solution to the problem. That was, if nothing else, certainly magic. They looked down at the scrap of paper with four numbers written on it.
Who the fuck were they?
_____
James stared into the orange orb in the Lair’s basement. It was suspended on the points of two three-sided pyramids, and it would have looked very cryptic and majestic, if it weren’t for all the ropes and clamps holding the pyramids in place.
“What am I looking at here?” He asked Reed.
“A nonfunctional totem, mostly.” Reed replied. “So, here’s the deal. We copied the design of one of the hallway totems, as exactly as possible, and have recreated it here. It doesn’t do anything. Like, at all. It’s not even like one of Momo’s degenerate red totems; it’s just sitting there.”
James rubbed his chin as he leaned closer to the orb. “Hm. So there’s a stumbling block in development, is what I’m hearing.”
“I know this is important for your arcology plan, but yeah, we got nothin’.” Reed admitted. “I think there’s internal parts we’re not seeing. So, next delve, I’d like to take a team to find one of these, and move the entire thing back with us. Sans orb, obviously.”
“I’m honestly really glad you said that last part, because with you guys, it’s never obvious.”
“Hey!” A half dozen various voices yelled at him from the Research side of the basement. Followed by Reed blushing as he ran a hand through his hair and said, “Yeah, no, that checks out.”
Pausing with his index finger pointed out toward where a desk had exploded last week, James stopped at Reed’s admission, shut his mouth, and nodded. “Okay, glad we got that cleared up.” He said. “So, one entire totem, added to our growing shopping list. Anything else to report that I should know about?”
“Well, we got a working program out of one of the chips that JP and Nate requested.”
“They what?” James was instantly suspicious again.
“Yeah, they wanted something really specific. But it works perfectly! I think that the more specific we make the things, the better they get. So this one is kinda nice.” Reed nodded enthusiastically, pointedly not telling James what it did.
James gave him a flat stare. “What does it *do*?” He asked, only half wanting the answer.
Reed cleared his throat, and looked around for help. But the rest of Research had abandoned their boss, suddenly all consumed by small tasks and tests. “It finds the wireless signals that traffic cameras use, breaks into them, and streams the video feed.” The young man admitted to James.
“Oh. Okay, neat.” James said.
“You’re not mad that that’s super illegal?”
“Oh, I’m furious. But mostly with JP. And since he’s running our counterintel division now, I *fucking guess*, I’m just gonna let him do his thing.” James growled some of the words. “Anything that’s less illegal and more ‘this will make a magical arcology go’?” He asked Reed in a normal voice that gave his head of Research mild emotional whiplash.
“Uh…” Reed looked down at his tablet and scrolled through the mess of notes he’d left for himself and never organized. “We’ve got a microwave that adds nutritional content to food. But that’s not an easily mass produced solution to anything. Oh, Sarah wanted me to pass on something to you about how her pet raincloud is doing well? I guess that’s for, like, weather regulation?” Reed bit his lip as he stared at that line. “Sorry, no. What?”
“Pet raincloud?” James echoed, mouth hanging open. “Like… I mean, I can think of a dozen uses for that, especially for indoor farming, but… when did she…?” He looked around at Research, and called out, “Has anyone talked to Sarah lately?” Head shakes and non-answers. “Okay, I’ll look into that.” He sighed. “Please don’t blow up the building until I get home, okay?” He tossed his customary farewell over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator, grinning as he passed through the now colorfully lit balcony area around the elevator doors.
After he’d left, one of the people working on testing dungeon items caught Reed’s eye. “Does he… not trust us?” He asked.
“Oh, he does.” Reed said. “I think. He just likes to keep us on our toes. Especially since there was that one time we accidentally a god.” Reed sipped at his coffee as the few people who hadn’t been there bombarded him with questions. “Anyway, I’m busy.” He said, studying his tablet and waving them off. “Gotta go feed the shells. Everyone back to work!” He walked away, grinning to himself. He really saw why James got a kick out of doing this sort of thing.
_____
It was roughly six in the morning when James’ phone rang.
Over the last few hours, real world time, James had been trying to grab a little sleep after the events of the last few hours, dungeon time. They’d gone into Officium Mundi last night. Not everyone, but a lot of them. And while James hadn’t been part of the group doing the hardest work and making a massive loop through their mapped area to pick up coffee and computer chips, he’s still had his share of dangerous experiences.
He and Anesh had learned that the top of Anesh’s mage tower was still subject to the whims of wandering flying creatures. So far, the whole thing had been relatively safe, and nothing had wandered into the door zone even on the ground floor. But today, of all days, a half dozen sticky note masks had come screaming past in formation, disrupted the flock of paper airplanes perched around the windowsills, and made a sharp turn to wing their way through the windows of the top floor. They immediately attempted to tear Anesh’s face off, and James and Ganesh had found themselves with their hands - or wings - full of angry papercuts as they grappled with and eventually destroyed the masks.
[+2 Skill Ranks : Repair - Headphones - Wireless]
[+1 Skill Rank : Cooking - Spice Balance]
It had been a while since James had furiously cracked yellow orbs post combat, and the feeling was refreshing enough to make up for the lines of blood coating his hand.
That was just the start of the night, though. After that, James had headed out with Theo of all people to do a little scouting and looting. His not-really-boss-anymore had asked, as politely as was possible for her, to spend some time in the Office. And it wasn’t for any reason other than that her hours had been cut, and she needed to cover the cost of rent.
James said yes, of course. Though he was up front about the fact that he wasn’t interested in putting up with her hostile bullshit past the doors. And that the Order would prefer to pay out her whole loot share in cash, and keep anything magic she found. It wasn’t an order or anything, but Theo was fine with that, so everyone got what they wanted.
Well, James and Theo didn’t get exactly what they wanted. They got ambushed by a plant at one point. And got in a fight with a copy machine. And Theo fell in what could best be described as a ‘Sarlacc pit but with ballpoint pens’. And there was a small mob of striders that tried to overwhelm them.
[+1 Skill Rank : Literature - American - 19th Century]
[+1 Skill Rank : Animals - Fish - Sea Bass]
[+1 Skill Rank : Geography - Wales]
[+1 Skill Rank : Drums]
[+1 Skill Rank : Fabrication - Lenses]
[+1 Skill Rank : Bureaucracy - Union - Australian]
When they dragged themselves back into the fortified area around the base tower, they were bruised, tired, in Theo’s case a little soggy, and also in possession of a couple backpacks full of miscellaneous stuff that would be fed into Research for dungeontech testing, and a pile of orbs. And eight hundred bucks, for Theo, which James added a couple fifties that he’d found in a wallet to. He felt like it was more than worth the payment for her help today, and for getting him jumped ten points farther up on his biology Lesson.
It had been nice to just talk to Theo for a while, too. She was way calmer about the whole ‘existential threat to humanity’ thing, since the dungeon hadn’t done anything recently, and no one had told her about the whole thing with the school. James *had* filled her in, though reluctantly, and she’d taken it pretty well. Theo was a good example of a normal person who was capable of dealing with this stuff, but just didn’t want to be part of the role the Order was starting to create for themselves as guardians of reality. She just liked to worry a lot.
Then James had been part of an ambush party that took out a stuffed shirt that wandered too close to the tower, and he’d taken a monstrous elbow to the jaw that had left him reeling. They’d taken out the employee, though, and the green orb it dropped had been duplicated, noted, and sent back to the Lair for testing. James had been gifted the purple orb they liberated from its pockets, as they weren’t currently spending any extra resources copy testing those, and everyone else had harvested the yellows from the pack of shellaxies that had been following the stuffed shirt.
[Shell Upgraded : -3 Nerve Weak Points]
It was helpful that the Lair now served multiple thematic roles, because it really widened the scope of what the greens could do there. Sometimes in ridiculous ways.
All of this was to say that James had been exhausted, and nearly fallen asleep sitting in the passenger seat as Anesh drove them home. Getting up the stairs had been a challenge, and getting past hugs from Auberdeen and Rufus had been a feat worthy of its own epic. After that, muddling through a shower and then flopping into bed to curl up around Anesh had seemed pretty simple. James had been out like a light, snuggled into his warm boyfriend to keep away the winter cold that had snuck into their apartment.
And then, two hours later, his *phone rang*.
“Hrrrarrrguh!” Was approximately the word he moan-roared into it, his brain pulled out of sleep just before he’d really gotten anything of use from it.
“Ah... “ There was an exclamation from the other end, a single note of worry and anxiety. James *felt* that. He’d been there; calling people was rough. He should have checked his caller ID.
“Sorry. Reed, is that you? What’s up?” He smacked the dust off of his tongue and spoke a little clearer, distangling his other arm from where Anesh had commandeered it as a pillow and sitting up in bed.
“No, I… you left this number in my backpack. Like, a few months ago?”
The hamster on the wheel in James’ brain overclocked itself turning the gears of memory. Backpack… phone number… It suddenly clicked for him. The kid. The son of the camraconda’s messianic figure. “Williams?”
“Er, yeah. That’s my last name.” The young man’s voice replied. “You said that I should call you when I was ready to talk.”
James nodded to no one in particular. “Probably.” His sleepy brain stalled for a second, and then he panickedly continued talking. “Do you want to meet? I can… get up…” He had a brilliant idea. “Coffee. I should get coffee.”
“Now?”
“There’s probably a coffee place open. It’s…” James checked his phone. “Goddamn six AM? Why six AM?”
“I thought you were a government office.” The kid, Williams, replied.
James made a derisive noise that cause Anesh to roll over, drag half the blankets with him, and burrow into a pillow. “There’s a place down the street from where we met that sells doughnuts. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
He hung up, and after tugging on pants in a dark bedroom twice - the first time he guessed wrong on which side was ‘forward’ - James was back out into the freezing morning air. It was December at this point, unless he’d lost track of the date again, so it would still be dark for another hour or two. And it would be cold for longer than that. The Pacific Northwest had never been high on the list of “places that were pleasant around the holiday season”, but over the last decade, ongoing climate change had really solidified his home as somewhere that got cold, stayed cold, and probably had some icy rain in there for good measure. At least it wasn’t snowing right now, and, James thought to himself as he drove through an intersection and into the parking lot of a small strip mall, at least there was a doughnut and bad coffee waiting for him.
After James got his drink, delivered in a cardboard cup that felt structurally unsound, he realized his miscalculation.
There was no indoor seating right now.
It was forty degrees fahrenheit outside.
And so, after about ten minutes of waiting, when the teenager arrived, it was to see James freezing his ass off on a wrought iron chair, ensconced in one of Anesh’s scarves that his boyfriend had left in the car, and generally trying to think of any way to make it possible to punch the abstract concept of cold.
“Um… are you who I’m meeting?”
James wanted to laugh, but he restrained himself to being mildly professional and polite instead. “I refuse to believe anyone else would be out here.” He said, rising to his feet. “I’m James. Nice to meet you.”
The teenager across from him, James realized, still looked like he was prepared to sprint away at any second. He had matted hair, shoes with holes in them, and a bruise on the side of his cheek that looked incredibly painful from what James could see of it poking out from around the kid’s mask.
“Uh, sure.” He said in reply to James. And then a second later, made a decision. “I’m Morgan.”
“Hey Morgan. Do you want a doughnut? I welcome the opportunity to go inside.”
The reply to that was *instant*. “Okay.” No hesitation at all.
“So.” James said as the woman behind the counter got him another pair of blueberry cake doughnuts. The coffee was finally kicking in, and his brain was more or less working now. “I suppose you want to know what happened.”
“Is mom… is she alive?” Morgan asked. His voice cracked around the last word, and James saw the doughnut lady tilt her head just a bit. Conversations like this caught attention.
James sighed as he paid for the doughnuts and a bottle of milk for the teen. “No.” He sadly reported. “She… no.”
They took the paper baggies the cashier handed them, and went back outside into the cold. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I mean, yeah. That’s what I’m here for.” James said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought you were a spy or something. Was my mom a spy?”
“No, she… hm.” James trailed off, staring at the bright white and red lights of passing traffic as he thought for a second. “Okay, I can’t say she wasn’t. I didn’t know her. So maybe. Though if she was a spy, it was probably corporate espionage and not a government thing.” He glanced over to where Morgan had already devoured the first doughnut and was halfway through the bottle of milk. James wasn’t sure what was going on in the kid’s life, but if he was hungry enough to eat something that sugary through the grief of being told his mom was dead, then it couldn’t be good. “I’m not a spy either, though I do run a secret organization that’ll probably take over the world at some point.” James offhandedly offered, and was satisfyingly amused to see Morgan half choke on his next bite of cake.
“Did…” He took two shuffling steps away from James. “Did you kill my mom?”
“No.” James said. “And I want to explain everything to you, but I don’t know if you’ll believe me. Because it’s weird.” He looked over at the kid, who still looked ready to bolt, but at least hadn’t run off yet. “And I mean weird. I forget, sometimes, you know? How bizarre everything in my life is. But the fact that when I say ‘sure, your mom coulda been a spy, I guess’ I actually mean it? That’s just… that’s because of how normal shit like that’s gotten for me.”
Morgan eyed him with the wary look of someone who understood that the adult was talking out his ass, but not exactly *why*. “I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about.”
“Your mom fell out of reality, died, and accidentally started a society and a religion.” James said.
“...Nah, still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
James had that feeling in his chest, even through the kind of groggy edges of sleep that were still dragging him down, that he got whenever he told someone about the magic in the world. There was still a very real argument to be made - and the members of the Order regularly had this argument - that the dungeons were not the only magic nonsense out there, that there were vampires and non-Momo witches and dragons and things. But when he got to do this, just blatantly tell someone these secrets, lift the veil a little and let someone slip over to his side, it was a really satisfying feeling. An excitement, to see how they’d react, what they’d say, and ultimately, if James had made the right call and added another ally to the growing roster of the Order of Endless Rooms.
“Tell you what.” He said, smiling behind his mask in a way he knew reached his eyes. “How about I introduce you? That way, we can go inside, where I don’t feel like my ears are going to fall off, and also we can get you some actual food. The Lair has a kitchen!”
It took a little more than just that offer to break through Morgan’s obvious suspicion of James. But there was a strong argument to be made with sandwiches and indoor heating, and before too long, they were driving that way in awkward silence.
But eventually, James had to put aside his childish excitement, and bring up something important.
“Alright, here’s the deal.” He said. “I know this isn’t going to make a whole lot of sense, without context, so, I’m gonna try to explain as best I can.” James took a deep breath, and tried to organize how he wanted to explain the situation. “Your mom, in what she was doing, fought with and died to a number of creatures that were being puppeted by a larger power. With me so far?” Morgan thought for a second, but then nodded reluctantly. Talking about his mom’s death wasn’t a good place for him. James moved on quickly. “Okay. Here’s where it gets messy. Your mom *did something*. Something magical, that we haven’t been able to recreate. And yeah, don’t give me that look, I know what I said. I mean literal magic, not Hallmark movie magic.” He didn’t even have to look over to reply to the scraggly teenager. “Whatever she did, she turned that battlefield she died on, into a place the puppeteer couldn’t reach. And all the creatures…” What was the word. How do you explain that?
“Woke up?” Morgan offered with a voice that sounded like rolling eyes, staring out the passenger window.
“Not at first. But eventually. Maybe it’s better to say they grew up. Became people. They had to, because they were on their own.” James sighed. “And they figured out what they’d done. And then… well, it’s been years, right?”
“Yeah.” Morgan didn’t move, balled up in the passenger seat, staring out the window as he replied. “Three years, I guess. Not that I cared. Or anything.”
“Kid, let me tell you something. You don’t have to posture or lie to me. Or anyone you’re gonna meet today. We’ve got trauma coming out our ears. Hell, we have a dedicated therapist!”
Morgan looked over at him. “Why?”
Clearing his throat, James admitted, “Partially because we rescued her from certain death, but *also* because therapy is a useful tool to deal with painful memories.” He bit his lip as he flicked his turn signal on and moved them over a lane. “And I choose to believe she hangs around with us because we’re cool.”
“Are you?”
“Oh, absolutely.” James grinned. But then he let the smile drift off as a more serious sadness came over him. “But look, what I’m saying is… it’s not their fault. I don’t need you to promise to be happy about it, or accept them, but I do need you to agree to not lash out.”
“Them? Wait, the things that… you…?”
“Three years is a long time.” James muttered. “Long enough for someone in a cool overcoat to find a bunch of trapped souls, and pluck them out of their prison.” He pulled them into the parking lot of the Lair, and Morgan jolted in his seat a little bit, like he hadn’t expected them to arrive so fast, or perhaps that he hadn’t noticed the building until the car was on top of it.
“Your coat is stupid.” He said, defiantly. James didn’t rise to the bait, instead turning the most serious look he had on the kid. “...Fine.” Eventually came out of his mouth.
“Great.” Was all James said as he cracked his door open, let the hot air that had just started building up flood out into the morning cold, and started walking toward the building’s front doors. Morgan hesitated, but James didn’t turn back, and just before he reached the entrance, he heard a car door slamming behind him and rapid footsteps on the asphalt.
Coming back to the Lair was always a happy experience for James. Even after the attack, even after *everything*, this was where he was building something magical, and he loved it. It was also where most of the camracondas hung out, which made the upcoming confrontation *immensely awkward* to him. And, on top of that, again, James was *tired*. So his emotional palette currently was a bit of a jumble. But he pushed the door open, and held it for Morgan all the same.
There was one camraconda there to greet them as they came through the security doors. Standing guards weren’t something the Order did much of these days; James knew for a fact that Harvey had a billion and one cameras wired up around the place, and there would be at least one intelligence watching out for anything dangerous at all times. And yet, despite that, he had somehow never come through the door to *not* be greeted by one of the serpents.
“Hey Barkdust.” James said as he brushed past Morgan, who had frozen in place at the sight of the snake.
“Good morning, paladin.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said formally.
“I regret sharing that word so much.” James whispered to himself through gritted teeth. “Morgan, this is Texture-Of-Barkdust. Barkdust, this is Morgan. He’s…” And now James faltered again. How to sum it up? “He’s her family.”
The camraconda got James’ meaning almost instantly, and before Morgan could get over his apprehension at the giant talking snake-shaped nightmare that had just said good morning to him, Texture-Of-Barkdust executed a low bow that ended with him basically prostrating himself before the teenager, the arc of the camraconda’s neck the only part of it sticking up into the air.
“That’s…” Morgan whispered fearfully.
“That’s Texture-Of-Barkdust.” James said, worryingly looking down at the camraconda. “And I have an instinctual desire to tell him not to bow to anyone, but I also don’t want to be a jerk here. Um… can you go tell the Priestess we’re here?” James asked the camraconda. “I need to get Morgan a sandwich.”
“Yesssss.” The serpent’s digital voice hissed out, and he sprung into action, lunging toward the elevator at a pace James had really only seen from the snakes during combat operations.
A long silence passed as James took Morgan back to the kitchen. They passed Harvey on the way, the man’s face now sporting dark lines that still managed to stand out on his black skin. He was carrying a cup of coffee, and had his ‘I am busy go away’ aura up, so James just nodded at him as he slipped back into the dispatch room where at least a couple people were on call for the Response team.
They’d been getting more calls lately. James wasn’t sure they were ready.
But now wasn’t the time for that. As he flicked on half the lights in the darkened kitchen, and cracked open the walk-in to see if there was anything edible and ready to go on the speed rack, he heard Morgan thump his elbows down on one of the counters, and say, “You weren’t joking.”
“Kid, let me tell you something. I am almost always joking in some way.” James said as he slid a plate of tuna sandwich, fruit, and potato salad toward Morgan. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying.” Morgan looked at him with an almost terrified expression, and Jame sighed. “Please eat. I know you’re worried, but I swear that you’re safe here. And the camracondas… they’re called camracondas, by the way, because I must make puns… they’re not your enemy.”
“They did it.” Morgan said around a mouthful of tuna. “Killed…”
“Yeah. Well, I mean, one, or maybe a few, of them did. They don’t remember it very well. And a lot of them have died since then.”
“How many are there?”
“Forty six left.” James said quietly. “And…” He stopped himself. The kid didn’t need to know about the orbs in the basement. About the souls kept in reserve. “Forty six.” James swallowed his words.
“Is she here?”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” James nodded. “They… the camracondas have a thing they can do, where they sort of freeze something they’re looking at. It’s weird, and doesn’t obey the laws of physics, and they’ve kept your mom’s body frozen that way ever since…” He trailed off again. “It’s in one of our basements, if you’d like to see her.”
“Will they be there?” Morgan looked back at the kitchen door.
“I can ask them to leave. Their priestess will be, though. There’s always at least one attendant for your mom.” James spoke softly. Morgan looked like he was about to cry, and James pushed himself off the counter he was leaning on, dusting off his hands on his coat. “Hey, how about this? You don’t need to make a choice right now. I’ve got some work to do, or a nap on my desk to take, either one. You eat. I’ll have everyone stay out of the kitchen. If you want to go, that’s fine. You can take any food you want, and we can always let you in if you need a place. Kid, you don’t look good, and I’m worried about you.” James added that last part almost reflexively. “If you need to stay here, we’ve got bedrooms in the basements. Whatever you choose, just… you’re safe here, okay?”
“Okay…” Morgan whispered.
“There are people around.” James told him. “And to be clear, the camracondas *are people*. But if you’re not comfortable with that, there’s always at least one human here. Nate’ll be in at some point, just tell him I said it was okay, and he’ll grumble but otherwise be okay with you being here. Probably he’ll try to teach you how to make potatoes. That’s just what he does. Anyway, the point is, if you need to find me when you’re ready, someone will know.”
James stepped out of the kitchen when Morgan didn’t reply, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he clamped his eyes shut and let out a long sigh, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling in anxiety. Until movement caught his eye, and he looked down.
There were perhaps thirty camracondas sitting in the dining room, curled up in ranks in a semicircle around the kitchen door, waiting silently.
“Not now, everyone.” James spoke quietly, trying not to draw attention. “He needs some time.”
He’d almost expected the camracondas to argue. But for all that they had built their beliefs around this one kid’s mother, for all the silent zeal they showed in rushing to appear before him, James had once again forgotten that the camracondas weren’t human. Their idea of religion wasn’t the same as his, in a dozen small ways and even more large ones. They didn’t have the same history, the same ideas, even the same sense of society.
So when he said that Morgan needed space, the camracondas nodded, as one, took him at his word, and dispersed rapidly. A rainbow of green, grey, and blue cables flowing like a river out of the common room.
And James followed them. He’d give the kid space, too. And hopefully, when Morgan was ready, he’d be willing to talk to the camracondas.
They’d been waiting for years to know who had saved them.