Benjamin – Citadel #1 ‘Keep Out’
You have entered Citadel #1 ‘Keep Out’.
Stepping out into the command center with its empty seats and accompanying consoles, one of me chuckles at the embarrassingly crystal clear memory of its still superfluous purchase. Attempting to go beyond such past and impulsive failures we move to inspect the central holo-display of the Citadel as has become our returning habit these past eight years. upon doing so, much to our relief, we find that all appears to be normal with our overly large system generated fortress.
Which leads two of us to wonder why exactly we were not brought back a month and change ago...
A third mind takes a moment to fascinate upon the miniature representations of its populace that bustle about their daily lives as another me wonders how, as a whole, they would feel about our oversight. Would they be alarmed at something so inhuman watching over the facsimile of their every move, or would they be simply glad that someone that wasn't the system still cared enough to spare them a cursory glance? Shrugging a me makes a mental note to ask Gérard about our approval ratings as another me wills the lift to levitate free of the floor.
Hopping into the noiseless white ovoid one of me commands it to take us to the Frenchman’s residence to conduct our monthly, and somewhat comforting check in.
Over the past few years, since one of the Emissaries got so close to our base, it has taken multiple conversations with the man in question to allay my's universal fears and take a more lackadaisical approach to the clearing of Siphons again. At first we were understandably reticent to let our under powered ex-species fend for themselves against the universes aliens and their invasive machinations. Yet Gérard swore blind that his trade contacts assured him that humanity already had more than two hundred thousand humans above level 80, who were more than up to the task.
So given that our collective presence on earth is no longer a necessity. We'd taken to invading other worlds once more, and trying to find a potential trait upgrade, but unfortunately things have been stagnant on our status for years now and its frankly getting more then a little frustrating...And quite frankly boring...
Still. Everything else with our minions has been ticking along like clockwork. Like them not dying and having the Frenchman recall me by way of the Insertion chamber... Well that last bit was true until the past month, but given the track record we’ve had with using the thing, we're unanimously willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and hear him out.
So as a me steps out of the floating ovoid to confront our trade liaison and still not quite friend, three of me are surprised to find a stung out looking delinquent in leather armor, that jumps to comical attention when she sees us emerge from the lift.
Giving her a questioning look she blurts out in a British accent.
“Oh thank god you’re here Sir…I was told to wait for Gérard…b-but he...h-he was so long overdue an-”
Holding up a hand, a pit in our stomach opens up as one of me asks in as level tone as it can manage.
“And where did Gérard go exactly?”
She nervously gulps before offering.
“He said he was just going to meet his daughter S-Sir… H-He said something about her b-bringing something special…”
Now confusion joins our dread as a mind queries.
“When did he leave to meet Giselle?”
Then her eyes start to leak as she stammers.
“H-he came and informed us o-of his plan almost s-six weeks ago s-sir…”
Groaning another me prompts.
“Please tell me at least one of you lot went with him?”
Nodding emphatically at this, she adds.
“Of course sir, Toni Insisted she be the one to accompany him…S-She also took Peter for backup!”
Three of me relax slightly on account of the fact that they apparently hadn’t been completely imbecilic about it. In turn the triumvirate convened on the best place to start looking and hastily elected to check in with the hopefully still locatable, second in command.
As we disappear into the newly summoned [Lesser Dimensional Portal] one of me somewhat sarcastically, offers the strung out young adult.
“Keep up the good work.”
One of me notes that she clearly didn’t pick up on our intent due to the fact that she’s saluting me and we make a mental note to try and de-cultify our minions during our next chaperon duty.
Stepping into the Delinquent’s headquarters we immediately locate our target. A lone Jürgen, sitting behind the impressive desk, reclining as he rests his feet on its surface. He’s not completely alone however as he appears to be nursing a three quarter empty bottle of something with more bottles litter the floor, all while looking angrily our way.
Despite our expectations of deference or failing that a modicum of fearful anxiety, he instead slurs out.
“Toook ya long enoughhh.”
Collectively quirking a brow at the now twenty something young man, a me queries.
“So I take it you also don’t know where Toni and Gérard got to?”
Barking a bitter laugh he counters.
“Ohhhh surrre, it’s so eaaaasy to find a Caallvin that looks Asian when where nottt even allowwwwed to go lookingggg.”
Unilaterally seething at the slurred information. One of my minds can’t argue with his reasoning, but another mind focuses on the revulsion we feel at the soporific self destruction he’s clearly mired in, which is only added to by the dried vomit crusted below his armors neckline. The third mind makes clear that both points are irrelevant because we now have a lead, and as a bonus, don’t have to engage with the surly drunk Norwegian any longer.
The triumvirate elects for short term interventionism to verify the drunkard’s claims, leading a me to open up a [Lesser Dimensional Portal] under the guy.
His chair disappears beneath him shortly before he follows suit and a me easily vaults the desk with a clang of armor to join him at his destination:
You have entered Alpha Zone #193 Level 1 – 20.
A me employs [Lesser Matter Manipulation] to suspend our fall into the lake out front of the Citadel, whilst the drenched man is unceremoniously shedding his mail armor into its depths whilst he sputters and thrashes to stay afloat.
Rain cast by overhead clouds sleets sideways to meet the waters surface as a mind bring me’s closer to the flailing Yerg’s level as he finally finishes divesting himself of his weighty defenses to half yell and slur.
“WHAT THE FUUUCK WAS THAT FOOOR?”
Chuckling at the mage who clearly didn’t spec heavily enough into physical stats, yet chose to wear medium armor. A me opines.
“Sorry about that mate…It just looked like you needed a drink…”
He continues to tread water as he screams.
“FUCK YOUUUU, YOU….YOU…TWO BITTT TYRANT! THISSSS NEVER WOULLLLD HAVE HAPP-“
Then one of me gets bored of his imaginatively lacking rebuttal and casts a minor strength [Increase Gravity], and despite his renewed flailing he goes under.
We elect to let him sink for a few more seconds before we release the skill and he promptly breaks the surface, coughing and sputtering as a me furthers.
“Sorry mate, I didn’t quite catch that?”
To which the Norwegian releases more water back to where it belongs.
Meanwhile, one of me notes that despite the dreary and overcast nature of the day, and the drunk man still splashing about at its center, the new semi-circular water feature really has improved the feng shui of the zone.
Apparently sufficiently recovered, my drunk minion screams.
“FUCK YOOO-“
Leading one of me to replicate the previous process as the sky rumbles and the rain continues it's fall unabated.
This process repeats itself a couple of more times, punctuated by the weaklings hilariously innovative attempts to fireball us in between his recoveries, but eventually after his stamina and mana run dry, all he can do is cough and float like a bedraggled cat glaring balefully at us through sodden hair.
All told his forceful sobering took little more than a half hour before the triumvirate deemed him sufficiently ready for more civilized communication on terra firma. But when I say terra firma that is not technically correct on account of only one of us being on said ground.
Despite the man’s exhaustion, many me’s have found that it is a necessity to keep him off it lest he start to run at me with a dagger he retrieved from his water logged belt.
Could we have kept him completely restrained so the irate European couldn’t move a muscle?
Certainly.
But due to previous instances of that tactic, I have found it distresses the individual in question into mindless fear as opposed to completely bearable hate fueled silences. So for lack of a better alternative, this is the best captive form of communication we have at our grudging disposal.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
As the still drenched Jürgen floats free of the ground and continues his impressive death stare, a me asks.
“So, you feeling better yet?”
He opts to keep his insults nonverbal and spits at me from his meter remove, and as one of me easily dodges said wad of mucus another amends.
“Are you still unwilling to have a civil discussion…or would you prefer to go back in the lake?”
He growls in ineffectual menace, before biting out.
“What do you want from me you fucking fre-“
But his eyes focus on our finger of warning and he clamps his jaw shut.
Nodding in triplicate appreciation a me rejoins.
“How do you know this ‘Calvin’ was involved in Toni’s Disappearance?”
Scowling at me some more, he clenches his fists and closes his eyes to presumably try and reign in what he really wants to say. His attempt seems to have worked because when he reopens them, the tone of his voice is almost back to normal as he grudgingly supplies.
“We talk you know...Well some of us do…”
A me gives him our best questioning face and he seems to interpret it correctly as he furthers.
“I mean we talk to other people…Other groups, Outside the citadel…Outside of you…”
When no more but a brooding silence from the suspended young man if proffered, on account of him having subsequently failed a repeat performance of picking up on our instructive nonverbal queues. One of me prompts a little testily.
“And this has relevance to my question because?”
Huffing in annoyance he counters.
“For some time now some of us have been thinking of leaving…”
He searches my universally confused face for something and apparently doesn’t find it as he continues in an exasperated tone.
“So we put out some feelers to other groups of survivors to see if they needed people like us…Capable people…”
Shrugging as all three of me clearly don’t see why the topic brings the lad such angst, one of me adds.
“You guys have always been free to leave, I only ever instituted the whole chaperon thing so you guys wouldn’t get killed while leveling up...I thought that was made pretty clear when I hired you lot...”
Incredulity supplants his face as he stammers.
“T-then why the fuck are you torturing me and keeping me RESTRAINED LIKE A FUCKING HOT AIR BALLOON!?!”
One of me lets out a bark of laughter before seeing fit to educate the ill mannered employee.
“Because you were being abusive whilst in my home and it looked like you needed sobering up before we had a meaningful conversation.”
Rain continues to fall on both of us as Jürgen blinks at me's in disbelief, giving us an accusatory face for a moment before working his mouth to offer nonexistent words.
All of me takes pity on him and deactivates the skill suspending him and he drops to the ground, only barely maintaining his balance on his jelly like legs. Despite his regained freedom he seems to give up his attempt at speech or even more pathetic attempts to try and murder us, instead settling to sit on the semi smoothed stones and hug his knees to his chin whilst looking morosely out to where the Citadel meets the lake.
One of me gets tired of the joint silent vigil and prompts.
“You still haven’t told me what you guys looking for another job has to do with being so sure that Calvin is behind Toni and Gérard’s disappearance?”
Refocusing on us, he rejoins me's in the now to supply.
“Well...Some of us agreed that we should start making preparations to leave and join The Free Consortium, and during our investigations we found that Gérard’s daughter already lives at their main base... One thing led to another and Olivia reached out to her…”
Our eye involuntarily twitches at the mention of the vile Gemini aligned Canadian’s name, and he apparently registers our loss of facial control and continues much more hastily.
"Giselle! Giselle has been dating a guy named Calvin for a while and he’s pretty well connected with The Consortium and some big wig local merchant…The last Olivia heard from Giselle was that she was going to meet Gérard with Calvin in tow with some fancy wine or something...So if anyone knows where she is it’s him…”
Eyeing the man for a moment, one of me probes.
“So just to be clear; Your solution was to get pissed instead of going to look for your leader?”
His anger is back in full effect as he points an accusatory finger whilst snarling.
“You were the one who told us to never leave the Citadel without you! And seeing as members of the Consortium were the ones who robbed Gérard a few years back, we thought we wouldn’t be able to do more then piss them off an-“
Two of me close on the angry young man as the rain and air is displaced by our inhuman passage.
Jürgen for his part only manages to revert to a wide-eyed stare as he falls backwards whilst a me demands in a low tone.
“Are you certain they are the cunts who beat him up?”
He recollects his wits from where he’s sprawled on the pebbles by way of stammering.
“W-we thought you kne-“
Unilaterally cutting off his redundant muleing a me tersely snaps.
“Of course I didn’t know shit for brains!! You honestly think those dickheads would still be breathing if I did!?”
He begins.
“Y-you mean yo-“
Collectively forestalling whatever redundant nonsense the sodden Norwegian is about to spout, a me furthers.
“No! The jolly rotund bastard refused to tell me who did it because he knew I’d have ground them to a fucking paste!...Now look where we fucking are you stupid surrendering cheese lov…What the fuck am I doing wasting time talking with you for? You can make your own way back or not…I’m done babying you ungrateful shits after this bloody mess…”
One of me notes that the pathetic excuse for a man has something to say on the matter if his contorted face is anything to go by. But as we couldn’t give three shits what the unappreciative weakling thinks or feels right now, another me opens a [Lesser Dimensional Portal] and steps through in spite of the half garbled words behind us.
You have entered Alpha Zone #193 Level 1 – 20.
Indifferent to the warping of our senses or the startled looks from those in the merchant area around the City’s central administration building. A me cancels the skill while another of us gives a mental back pat of my casual if intermittent, observance of all earth’s major groups and their known home bases.
When the triumvirate first initiated the practice, there was an internal rift of two minds for and one against, mainly because the hold out me didn’t want to have to eradicate another bunch of people preemptively for trying to harm what is under our protection. Thankfully the hold out had conceded that an unknown threat to my's protectee’s was still a threat. And as we collectively walk into the building and head up a few levels to stand in front of the 'council' chambers, another round of internal back patting breaks out as it appears that a good number of the white robed thieves are helpfully in attendance.
Ignoring the threats of the guards who’s feeble attempts at apprehension we easily evade, the power of jolly cooperation brings us to stand in the center of the circle of their shocked faces as the displaced air from our passage clearly rustles their proverbial feathers.
Seeing as we already have the floor a me informs the gathering of soon to be corpses.
“Hello. My name is Benjamin. You have one chance...Provide me with the information I want or you don’t get to exist anymore.”
The first to make their displeasure known is a South American guy by way of commanding.
“Guards detain him!“
And the triumvirate summarily votes in favor of taking the City by force and is about to elect what to do about the survivors when a grandmotherly New Zealand accented voice amends.
“Do not follow Councilor Cortez’s order please gentlemen...Do that and you will get us all killed...”
One of me proffers a slightly sinister smile as it confirms.
“I would listen to the old fush and chup enthusiast if I was you…”
Ignoring me Cortez demands.
“Councilor Gloria I don’t know what your game is bu-“
A gruff American accent cuts him off that’s owned by a salt a peppered bearded man in a matching white robe.
“Can it Cortez! Nobodies playing pin the tail on the Spaniard here!”
Then he turns his attention to me as he asks far less acerbically.
“Your really him aren’t you?”
One of me engages in it's purely egotistical curiosity of what exactly our reputation is amongst the wider populace of our ex-species as it asks.
“Really who?”
Instead of the American man we questioned supplying an answer, Gloria chimes in.
“The butcherer of the Shakti and the one who resides in the only Citadel on the planet…”
Deflating slightly at our sparse, if accurate biography, one of me wants to inform them of our far greater intergalactic accomplishments whilst another me points out that we came here for answers not show and tell with simpering thieves. As a result the third and first mind concur, leading a me to counter.
“Well if the shoe fits…Now to the reason I’ve come to your shit hole. Where is Gérard?”
Obviously not taking this at all seriously Cortez butts in.
“We don’t know or care who you’re looking for…You can’t just barge in here and demand things like you own us! We are protected by the City’s anti-violence magic, and if you attack us we wi-“
Running out of collective patience, a me cuts him off to further prosecute our question by asking the room at large.
“Does this dingbat speak for the rest of you?”
The chorus of “NO’S” tugs at the corner of our mouth while a me looks to the others to see if any of them will be more forthcoming.
I suffer from a multitudinous mixture of relief and annoyance as the middle aged American instructs in an equal parts annoyance and exasperation.
“Gloria! Give him what he wants! I’m not letting this nut job kill all our non combatants because Calvin took away his pet merchant!”
Scowling at the man, a mind only just manages to overcome the urge to pulverize the whole place immediately. Meanwhile to our right Gloria lets out an exasperated sigh, like she just spilt a cup of tea before she chastises.
“Harlan, you were always dreadful at keeping a poker face…”
Turing to look at the lady, she stares back at us, completely unperturbed as she continues.
“Just so you know Benjamin, it wasn’t any of our ideas…But for a reason he himself has yet to divulge, Calvin considers you an enemy…In that vein he took it upon himself to draw out your Merchant friend and simply detain him until the tier four quest is complete. He seemed to be of the belief that it would obstru-”
All three of me groan in relief as a me palms our forehead in frustration, allowing the triumvirates building anger to get put to the side in an instant.
There was likely no way humans would have the strength to pull off killing the phasic boss where so many of the stronger aliens I had encountered had stalled. That was even when we factored in the minute likelihood it happened to not be some incorporeal giant magical turd...
It seemed our consternation had stalled her confession as all those present looked to us with guarded interest. The triumvirate thought it was only fair to inform them of how dead their combatants were, however given their duplicitous track record it was agreed that that little magical shit nugget could wait until after they told me where our non combatant of an Initiate Merchant was stashed.
Fixing the matron-esque Gloria with our best ‘your wasting my precious time’ face, a me renewed.
“You still haven’t told me where Gérard is?”
She looked like she wanted to say something less than palatable but merely harrumphed before stating.
“He is in Alpha Zone #153 in the only cave on the southern cliffs. Be warned, there are two mercenary guards stationed with him and his daughter.”
Scoffing at the non threat, I turned to leave and found the guards baring the door. From behind me the grey haired woman spoke once more.
“I would like to think that my honesty has gained us a reprieve from your wrath Benjamin.”
Turning back to give her my ‘What the fuck have you been smoking’ face I counter.
“If the man and his guards are unharmed I’ll do my best to consider it.”
Protestations broke out from Cortez and Harlan but many me’s left them half formed as the power of un-jolly cooperation charged us at the guards. However our supersonic efforts were met somewhat predictably by bright bluish white light and we were unceremoniously teleported by the city’s automated policing magic to outside it’s walls by a couple hundred meters:
You have entered Alpha Zone #157 Level 1 – 20.
You have been relocated from City #143 for violating its nonaggression Law.
You are temporarily restricted from entering City #143 for 71 hours 59 minutes 59 seconds.
More than a little annoyed that despite the fact we had gained such ridiculous strength and speed, we were still somehow not capable of outpacing the systems, well…System…
Collectively huffing as we turned our minds to other far more important matters.
The ground beneath us cracks in protest and the world blurs to our will as we make haste to save those we could only hope would one day call us friend and actually mean it.