It took every persuasion technique in the books to get the old woman listening, and while I would love to say that convincing her to join our cause was all due to my suave communication skills, that would be a lie even I would be too embarrassed to tell. Rather, I had Big Bob to thank for her cooperation, he had access to some of his recording devices and had simply shown the woman what we’d been doing in the past few hours, and some of the more succulent interactions I’ve had with the Overseer. It didn’t take a genius to realize our shared animosity towards that piece of shit.
Margret took some time to digest the news, but she ultimately warmed up to the idea that others were just as pissed off and annoyed with the way that the Central Collective was run. After taking some time to answer her questions and concerns, she was tentatively on board with helping us and was at least willing to share some information. That was a start.
“So what was your plan after blowing up half this facility?” I asked, still trying to piece together the woman’s plans, “Even if you’re made the Site Admin, you’d be worse off than the last guy in charge.”
“That is the whole point, Lord Arbiter,” she replied, this time much more differentially after learning my identity, “This Site is rotten from the core. Its tenured staff do nothing but indulge in their degeneracy daily, while the facility is all but falling apart. If I were to inherit the Site as is, then nothing would change, and I cannot allow that. There would still be no money for new equipment and no reason to change; I simply saw the perfect opportunity to remedy this problem.”
“By blowing up half the building?” I asked, brow furrowed.
She spread her arms and displayed the plant-like growths protruding from her limbs, “Yes, Lord Arbiter. Just like an old forest must sometimes burn for new growth to sprout, so too must the dying Site 1100 undergo a similar purge to cleanse it of its disease. There will be no other option than to replace lost staff and equipment instead of allowing the old to continue to decay. Only a fresh start can save this facility. I had planned its downfall for many cycles now, but your actions here have sped up that process immeasurably.”
Okay, I couldn’t fully understand her strange logic, but the old plant-woman seemed to believe it with all her heart. I guess it did make sense in a twisted sense. Everything that I’ve seen in Site 1100 pointed to a place that was dysfunctional to the max. They were not only using outdated tech, but even brands that were recalled, although I think the latter was a deliberate ploy from Margret and her entourage. Worse yet, even with the huge explosion from earlier and the resulting fight, the actual Administrator had yet to make his appearance.
“Fine, I can understand your logic even if I don’t necessarily agree with it,” I said, “ But where’s the man in charge of this facility? Where’s the Site Admin?”
Margret laughed uproariously, “You mean Ed? Well, I can show you if you’ll just follow me.”
I glanced at Big Bob and Xalla, seeing what their opinion of the situation was, but they just gave me a shrug. Guess I was taking the lead this time, and I nodded quickly and went to follow the woman.
Site 1100’s head of security redonned her Restus guise and gestured for us to enter the only intact door left in the vicinity. We followed behind her, seeing no reason to doubt Margret at this point, and saw that the heart of Site 1100 was just as shoddy and unkempt as its axillary wings. The hallways were discolored by the constant wear and tear of foot traffic, and what appeared to be water damage and mold clung to the walls.
Much to Big Bob’s continued dismay, the electrical equipment was just as bastardized as the stuff we’d seen earlier, if not worse. Unlike the clean, sterile equipment and impeccable maintenance of Site 1102, its sister facility was anything but orderly. Machines seemed to be hastily repaired using scraps and other salvaged material, while the noncritical systems were simply left to rot and rust. Yet despite all of these setbacks, the workers that passed us all seemed professional and efficient, but more importantly, they all seemed to trust the woman walking in front of us without hesitation. It seemed that not every competent individual had deserted this particular place, and Margret acted as the glue that held everything in place.
Yet as we walked further and further in, it was becoming apparent that there were simply not enough staff available to run even a smaller Training Site like this one. Honestly, I was starting to question how it was possible for one person and her skeleton crew to keep this place in operation given its decayed state. Margret’s earlier statement was becoming more and more clear as we advanced further in. Even Xalla was sickened with how bad things were here.
Margret must have noticed our expressions because she spoke up, “I know what you’re all thinking. This place is a dump.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Xalla added, “How have you managed to keep things together for so long? I have the same job as you and I’ve counted 133 different security risks just walking here, and that’s not including all the Central violations. There’s too many of those to even list at this point. Aren’t you afraid that someone will infiltrate your facility?”
She laughed, “Like you three?”
Well, she wasn’t wrong there. I saw Xalla blush as she stammered to think something appropriate to say.
Margret shook her head, “But no, our Site’s too small and insignificant for any of the admittedly many enemies of Central to bother with. It’s not worth the resources, and it’s not like the Overseer would ever care about a tiny place like ours even if it was attacked. You’re from 1102, so you might not know, but more and more Sites are more like mine than yours. There’s a reason why everyone thinks that Central’s going to fold soon.”
The woman laughed bitterly, “But to think that my home would play a crucial part in the Overseer’s war against the returned Arbiter W of all people. I should be thankful for the unexpected fortune, my small schemes will advance and I’d join the annals of the history books once you dispose of that worthless sack of shit.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
I wasn’t sure if she was joking or being sarcastic with that remark; maybe it was a bit of both. This particular woman didn’t seem to be one of my normal supporters, even if she had heard of me before, but I was honestly more than a little glad for that small favor. I’ve had enough of people acting like I was some larger-than-life figure.
We walked in silence for a while longer until we reached a large door that led to a section of the complex that was a lot more well-kept than everything else we saw. Instead of the dingy, flickering lighting that had barely illuminated the weathered halls and corridors, this small area was spotless.
A horrible, tacky red and blue carpet made from what seemed to be a cheap imitation pelt lined the halls, while equally horrible art installations and paintings adorned every corner of the walls. In the centerpiece was a painting - or perhaps it was a mosaic given its size - that spanned the entire length of the ceiling. It depicted an artistic rendition of an individual wearing ornate armor fighting off a horde of various mythological beasts and fiends.
I pointed at the figure prominently displayed, “I’m assuming that’s Ed?”
Margret looked up and winced, “Ah, I try not to look up when I’m walking down these corridors. It brings back bitter memories about how much of our annual budget went into that pointless vanity project of his. And yes, that would be the man in charge, well, a vastly modified rendition of him in any case.”
“Yeah…” I muttered, “I think I got that the artist took a lot of liberties here. Alright, so where is this slayer of monsters?”
I had a distinct feeling that I already knew that answer. At the end of the corridor, right where the huge ceiling painting ended, was a huge golden door. I think it was actually made out of gold. There were jewels and gemstones adorning every corner of it, which was odd since these decorations hid the intricately carved mosaics that lined the metal.
Seeing us all look at the huge waste of money, Margret sighed and gestured at the eyesore, “Well, you guess correctly, the man of the hour is right behind that door, although I must warn you that it will not be a pleasant sight if you choose to go in.”
Big Bob, who had been silent for the most part - bar his muttered curses and weeps of sorrow whenever we passed by a particularly egregious patch-up work - finally spoke up as we neared the huge golden entrance.
“Wait,” he said slowly, “I know that room… I saw it when I was looking through the security features.”
Margret furrowed her brow in annoyance before eventually shaking her head and sighing, “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you were able to break into our systems, given how outdated most of them are.”
“Sorry about that,” Bob muttered quickly, “But if you two want to poke your head in that particular room, then count me out.”
“It’s that bad, huh?” I said, remembering his earlier remark about some of the things he saw.
Still, curiosity won out in the end and I just had to know what was on the other side of that grossly opulent door. I opened the door wide and peered through, but before I could even take in the sight inside, the sheer stench of unwashed bodies, alcohol, and a cocktail of drugs assaulted my senses, and worst still, all of those scents were mixed together with a horrid scented perfume. Xalla almost wretched when the clammy air hit her.
Next came the visuals and they were just as bad as the smell. Located at each corner of the room were small decadent scented pools and hot tubs filled with naked and unconscious men and women of every species, every individual was passed out in various states of intoxication. A large fur carpet lined the middle of the room, and more piles of bodies, drugs, and spilled alcohol adorned that surface. I saw that the once white material was stained a sickly yellow from whatever activities the people here indulged in.
And prominently featured near the back was a massive bed, easily the size of a small Earth apartment. Between the thick bed sheets and pillows was a labyrinth of limbs and appendages of all shapes and sizes, the owners of said limbs were lost beneath the soft fabric. I would assume that Ed was in there somewhere, although I didn’t want to even set foot inside that charnel house.
“So which one’s Ed?” Xalla finally asked, breaking the stifling silence. She had smartly backed away after assessing the room’s interior.
“The small spindly one in the back,” Margret answered, “Although you won’t be able to see him properly since he’s buried under all those other small spindly creatures.”
I tried to see what the woman was talking about but gave up quickly. It was impossible to pick out one individual from another in that mockery of a bed, and I did not want to expend any more energy trying.
“How long will he be out for?” I asked before slowly closing the door. We all breathed a sigh of relief once the room was sealed once again.
Margret shrugged, “We laced his usual vices with industrial strength sedatives, but he’d grown so accustomed to them that it’s hard to say. It hardly matters, however. Ed rarely leaves his little hole even when he’s lucid, and he's never lucid these days.”
“And he’s always like that?” Xalla asked, “That’s… that can’t be. There’s no way that Central would allow someone so unfit to lead to keep their job while they squander resources like that.”
The other woman laughed, “I can see that you are naive. That’s not just allowed, but it’s practically the norm nowadays. Small Sites responsible for worthless Aspirants are given the bare basics in terms of resources and are allowed to just exist without oversight as long as we keep churning out bodies for Central’s never-ending wars. You will find that few Administrators are like your Quasar, who still genuinely care about what they do.”
Xalla winced and her frills drooped, perhaps partly because of Q’s absence, and a larger part because she finally understood Central’s true nature. She saw, for the first time, just how bad things had gotten for other people who shared her line of work.
Xalla had originally told me that she wanted to make a name for herself working at Central, to show the multiverse that Xollons were more than just hired muscle and mercenaries, but how would she do so when it was clear that most of the Central Collective were filled with corrupt and incompetent staff?
“He’s no longer working for Site 1102,” Xalla said dejectedly, “He was fired recently.”
Margret didn’t look surprised, “Then it is a true loss for the Overseer.”
“Why do you still care so much about this place?” Xalla continued, “I mean, unlike me, you’ve known about the real state of things for a long time. Why would you want to inherit a place like this?”
Margret shrugged, “Wishful thinking? Sentimental musings of an old woman, perhaps?” She sighed, “Maybe it’s just a foolish dream that I still cling to. My father founded this particular Site, so many cycles back. He had an unfortunate disagreement with the Overseer, and, well, you can see the result of that altercation. I had always wanted to do his legacy right, even if he’s no longer around to see my efforts.”
“Even if that means helping out the Overseer, at least indirectly so?”
The old woman nodded, “Even so. It’s the only thing I have left of him.”
“I see…”
“But my interests lie only in this facility and its staff,” Margret continued, “And I will gladly help your cause if it means we can eliminate the cancer at the heart of the Central Collective.”
She looked at the three of us, “So how can I help?”