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[Now replaying: Log 3.23 - Fantasies of Coziness]

Date: Error

Location: The Bunker at Progress’ Head // Zephyro’s Domain

//Hug me till you drug me, honey//

//Chocolate chip cookies, a warm blanket, your couch, the fire roaring in th&”()!==//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

The rear was held by two Old Guard, a middle-aged guy with a fishing pole that made him look like a CEO on vacation, and the archer in a green cloak. As I arrived, he pulled a living snake out of his quiver, somehow put it against his bowstring, and fired it at a Feral wolf who had made the mistake of coming too close. The Feral died screaming, foaming at the mouth as the viper latched onto its nose. It was bizarrely cute.

“All clear?” I asked, coming to a halt, and taking the moment to wrap Pharus around my arm.

The guy with the fishing rod nodded. “They’re biting alright, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” He was sitting in one of those camping chairs, sipping what smelled like strong beer from a stein.

I frowned. “Shouldn’t you be standing up? You know, to fight?”

He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then realization dawned on his face and he shook his head. “Ah, nah mate. That’s a different story altogether, and believe me when I say it didn’t do too well. Always getting up, always ascending. It was all very aggressive, you know?”

He took another sip from his beer. “Nope, now it’s fishing all day, every day for Foamy and me.”

As he spoke, a small crab skittered onto his shoulder, blowing bubbles into the air. He scratched it between the eyestalks, and it shuddered with pleasure.

That was certainly a first. I had commanded all sorts of soldiers, but never one that sat on a camping chair in the middle of a battle, drinking beer.

I had just opened my mouth to ask the fisher what the hell was going on when a Feral jumped off of a roof behind him. He lazily whipped back his fishing rod, cutting the beast in half with the line and sinking the hook into one of the halves in one motion. He reeled it in and nodded appreciatively. “Not a bad catch. A bit small, true but not bad. You want it?”

He held the dissolving carcass out for me. It was the left half of a ferrofluid wolf, muzzle still drawn back into a snarl, angry red eye dead. It dripped tarlike blood and mechanical guts and Logic onto the floor and smelled faintly of iron and brine, of all things.

My eyes darted between the guy and his ‘catch’ while the archer kept a steady hail of arrows—no, snakes— raining down on any Feral stupid enough to approach.

“Uh…”

“It’s fresh!” the fisherman said, wiggling the carcass.

I inhaled the Logic, and for some reason, I could taste seabass, buttery and with that nice aroma of barbecue smoke. Or perhaps that was just the burning city around us.

{INCOMING LOGIC - 45 LB}

{AVAILABLE LOGIC - 612 LB}

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Sultana!” I heard a familiar voice behind me and turned to find Zephyro sprinting toward us. He was unbelievably quick, his steps eating the distance in seconds. “I have taken the liberty to secure the remaining flank. We are ready to advance.”

“Alright,” I said. “What are you waiting for, then?”

“Your command, Sultana.”

“My command? I thought this is your Domain.”

“Yeah, but we are not his minions, numbnuts!” Someone said from behind me, voice throaty and high. I scowled, my anger igniting like a pilot light, waiting for one more word, one more drop of fuel to set me aflame. It was all I could do not to snarl as I turned…

And came face to face with the most judgmental-looking crow I had ever seen, riding atop a giant crab wearing a monocle. I sputtered, feeling dumb for almost bursting out at a bird, of all things. I recognized the two as the pair that had bombarded the area with pie and coins earlier.

Mostly because the crab was holding a slice of cake in its pincers, happily munching away at the treat.

“What?” I breathed, utterly confused.

“We’re not his soldiers. You invited us, so it’s your party,” the crow cawed. “God, you can be so dense sometimes, I swear.”

Usually, that would have been enough to coax my rage right back out, but the absurdity of it all made staying mad impossible.

“Say that again?” I said, eyebrow rising.

Suddenly, a woman I had not seen before appeared beside the pair. “Don’t be so rude to our host,” she said, holding a baking tray out for the crab, then for me. “Cake?” she offered, and instinctively, I shook my head to politely decline her offer. My eyebrow went back down.

“Shouldn’t we be over there, fighting?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Oh, no, no, we don’t fight,” the woman said, shaking her brown locks.

“Then why are you here?” Zephyro asked, and I was happy that he seemed to be just as fucking lost as I was. He stood next to me, sword held lose at his side, and a croissant filled with cream in his free hand. He regarded it, then took a bite. His eyes went wide, making me wish I had said yes to the pie.

“No seriously,” I asked, turning back to see the battle was still raging on. “Why are you here?”

“Pie, obviously,” said the crab.

“Snark, obviously,” said the crow.

“Pastries, romance, and information warfare,” said the woman, like rattling off a shopping list. “Obviously.”

“And beer, obviously,” said a deep voice from behind the crab. I leaned to the side and discovered a dwarf with the most magnificent beard I had ever seen in my life, pouring beer.

“Hi!” he said when he noticed me looking. He handed an ale to the guy with the fishing pole, then poured himself another. He had an entire keg of the stuff, ready to go.

“I believe, Sultana,” Zephyro said very carefully, staring at the cozy picnic unfolding in front of us, “That it would be wise to trust in the Old Guard, mysterious as though their methods may be, and return to the front lines?”

He had finished the croissant, though.

“I think that would be a good idea, yes,” I replied, no matter how much I wanted to try one of those pies.

The crow rolled its eyes at me.

I didn’t even know crows could do that.

“You still haven’t given us orders,” it said.

“Uh, cover our retreat and assist the flanks as necessary?” I asked.

“Is that a question?”

“Don’t make me taxidermy you,” I said, but there was no vitriol in it. For some reason, this bizarre scene felt… good. Even though it shouldn’t have, even though everything was going pear-shaped.

The crow laughed, then picked up the crab, which shrunk and dropped its pie in the process, waving after it sadly as the pair took to the skies again.

“Don’t worry,” said the fisher. “We’ll get it done, Samantha.”

I exchanged a meaningful look with the vizier, then we both turned and hurried back to the front. He was slowing himself down for my benefit, and while that hotheaded, driven side of me urged me to upgrade my CPU to keep up and no longer be a burden, I held off on the choice.

While I had learned that saving up massive amounts of Logic wouldn’t do anything, the cost of all my upgrades had risen significantly, and I wanted to have at least the equivalent of one upgrade in reserve in case of emergencies. I just needed to stay in control and not let my anger spend it all.

Yeah, and how well did that go for you in the past, Sam?

“Shut the fuck up, Olre,” I mumbled through gritted teeth, so quiet that Zephyro couldn't hear it over the din surrounding us.

For a short while, the sounds of battle dimmed as we made our way down the crater, then swelled again as we headed back up. The whistling of hateful machinery, hissing of deadly gas, and sloshing of toxic liquids, punctuated with a heaving cacophony of electronic screams and mechanic formed a disturbing melody. Piercing it was the counterpoint of clear-cut swords slicing, percussion beat of rifles, bass of bombs, tied together and uplifted by triumphant battlecries.

Add in the whoosh of flames and crackle of electricity, and it became the kind of song you listened to during breakups as a teen, when the world ended all over again with every sob you screamed into your pillow. A nostalgic soundtrack, but cloyingly so; Makes you ever want to hear it again.

But hear it I did, the sounds assaulting me with images of past failures. Stax’s eyes twirled in front of me every time I blinked. God, I couldn’t wait to see Chris again, talk to them until my throat was raw, the fear gone, and all memories buried again.

We reached the frontlines a few moments later, and I focused o the fight again. The line held, and so far we hadn’t suffered any losses. In a real battle that would have been impossible, even after such a short time fighting, but in here, with people who could literally punch you to health, it seemed to be more of the norm. At least none of the Old Guard seemed to find it odd.

“Let’s push them back,” I said, eyes on the undulating fortress of Flesh shifting opposite the palace. “Once that thing falls, they will fight amongst themselves, and we’ll mop up the rest.”

Zephyro nodded, quietly, then turned to me, brown eyes bright with that reverend hope that made my jaw clench. “It will be done, Sultana.” Noticing my discomfort, his eyes swept over his burning empire. “This is incredible, Sultana. When we lost the guards at the gate, I believed all was lost. I never thought we’d actually turn the tide, never dared hope. Truly, under your guidance, God is with us.”

In less than a second, I remembered the plane crashing and the screams of the kids behind me. Then pressure on my stomach and water filling my unmoving chest, then the light, the village, the bullets, the Wish, the apology, and the offer.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be too happy about that if I were you.”

“Sultana?” he asked, but I shook my head. I hadn’t told anyone but the apostles for a reason, and I wasn’t about to spill my entire life’s story on a battlefield.

“Nevermind. Planning is over. Now we execute.”