117: Decisions (Patreon)

Where the hell were you both?

He was having a hell of a time talking with Mandy, Trixie, and Raven at the same time. Especially with two thirds of the conversation in his head, and with one of the three invisible to his sister.

<My phone has been ringing off the hook, so to speak,> Trixie said while Roland and Mandy walked toward Chapel Street and Raven sat on Roland’s shoulder, eliciting many a curious look. <After Raven and I had a chat, I was approached by a possible sponsor for your post-Integration advancement. Nothing concrete yet, but I think an offer is likely. And then I had to make a report to my superiors that lasted all night. My apologies.>

And I have been flying to and fro, making friends and unmasking enemies.

“Where did you get that crow?” Mandy asked Roland.

“Raven,” Raven said.

“It talks!”

“Yeah, he does. He’s part of this whole thing,” Roland said as he kept an eye on their surroundings.

Or rather, keeping his aura senses on alert. He could see all around him, and his enhanced mind somehow kept track of everything. Everyone had a stat box. So far, all mundane.

Everybody around him seemed to be moving with abnormal slowness, forcing him to lower his speed. At seven in the morning, most of the people walking were Yalies grabbing breakfast or locals going to work or just wandering the street aimlessly.

Mandy was almost jogging to keep up with him. He decreased his walking pace even more.

“I feel like I’m dreaming, Rollie,” Mandy said. “You are way taller. Like six-five or six. And that’s Dad’s old jacket, but you put some kind of embroidery on it?”

“A lot has happened in the last few days,” Roland told her as they walked down Chapel Street.

People got out of his way, seemingly without realizing they were doing so. A few even veered into the road, although luckily not far enough in to risk being hit by traffic.

Your aura is doing this, Raven explained. Pull it in more.

Roland did; with his Art at Beginner 5, his control had improved enormously. Pedestrian traffic became normal again.

“Does all this stuff have anything to do with what happened in Hartford?” Mandy asked.

“Hartford? Yeah, I heard something about it.”

Bob had mentioned disappearances in Hartford. Dozens at least, maybe hundreds.

<Hartford is the home of a Nemesis,> Trixie explained. <A fairly nasty one.>

What the hell is a Nemesis?

<Something that the System didn’t want you to know until Integration. They are the opposite of Exemplars. A threat.>

I should go and take him out, then. Before he becomes a bigger threat.

<You would be trying to find a skilled predator in his home ground. You are unlikely to find him before Integration.>

“Yes, Hartford is part of it,” he told Mandy. “But it’s bigger than that. Things like that are going to happen all over the world. I can’t stop most of it, that’s why we need to hole up in Gorman’s place.”

“Elle’s brother is one of the missing.”

That made him stop walking. Before he could reply, his phone rang. It was Bob.

His cousin got right down to business. “Gorman is already on his way here. Wants a meetup. ETA an hour from now. At his office downtown.”

“Got it.”

He and Mandy had stopped on a street corner just across from the old Chapel Square Mall, now converted into offices and open-air stores.

“Roland?”

He turned back to Mandy but once again, something interrupted him. This time, it was the senses tied to his Art.

There were strong concentrations of Mana and Essence in the mall. Under it. They were dropping steadily, indicating that they had been much stronger not too long ago. He’d felt something like that when leaving the Halls of Refuse.

Is that a Dungeon?

<The remains of one. An Exemplar is at work in this city. To avoid conflict, you should establish your Safe Zone elsewhere.>

Too much happening too fast.

He was regretting taking six hours to sleep. He’d thought he had almost two weeks but things were snowballing.

“Okay, let’s head back to your place,” he said. “Pack what you need. Clothing, personal items.”

“Rollie...”

“And once you are safe, I’ll drive to Hartford and see what I can do.”

<That would be a bad choice, Roland.>

I’ll bring my team. Between Wendy, Barton and me we can track down just about everything.

<Perhaps. Very well, I won’t stand on your way.>

Weird. I thought she would put up more resistance, he thought toward Raven.

She thinks events will take that choice off your hands. She’s probably right.

*

“I think I can work with this,” Gorman said, five hours later.

Roland leaned back on his chair. Drafting an agreement had turned out to be as stressful as combat, at least mentally.

Convincing Gorman had taken less than ten minutes. The rest of the time had been spent in a very long meeting involving Roland, Bob and Barton on one side and Gorman, Fred and George Buford, Gorman business partner and fellow Marine.

Roland vaguely remembered that Gorman had tried to betray him in the miniature timeline he’d been in while Rashid and Baridegi fixed his Dantian. That world had drawn from his memories, however, and his view of his uncle had never been very positive. With all that in mind, he’d tried to make Gorman an offer he couldn’t refuse and would minimize the chances for mayhem.

“I’ve drafted a copy of the agreement,” Barton said, laying down a piece of thick parchment on the table. “It’s essentially indestructible, unless you have a blast furnace or a live volcano handy.”

Gorman took the sheet and experimentally tried to tear it in two, putting some muscle into it.

“Definitely sturdy,” he said, reading over the terms and conditions. “Nice and straightforward. I like it. I have a law degree – never practiced – but I prefer to keep legalese down to a minimum.”

Roland had sweetened the deal by making Gorman his Viceroy, an official System title that gave his uncle broad administrative and legal powers over Roland’s territory. Roland had veto power over any decisions Gorman took, but for the most part his uncle would run the Safe Zone.

The Viceroy – and even Roland as Lord of the Zone – would be bound to the laws of the Zone, however. Drafting those rules had taken most of the ensuing four hours.

Barton – Roland had dragged him to the meeting – had been invaluable in drafting the rules. One of the first lines asserted the Safe Zone Rules would be reviewed and amended six months after Integration. The current set were emergency provisions to handle the initial chaos.

They weren’t nice rules. They weren’t democratic. Anyone who was admitted to the Safe Zone would have to agree to live under those rules. They had some basic rights, but if they didn’t like how they were treated their only recourse was to vote with their feet and leave the Zone.

Gorman’s suggestions for the rules had been harsh, but Roland had agreed that they were necessary. His uncle had served in Iraq and Afghanistan; he had firsthand knowledge of the ways societies fell apart.

“This is going to be hell,” George Buford commented as Gorman finished reviewing the document. “We’re going to have to set up temporary housing for at least three hundred people.”

“After Integration, you will be able to build things almost instantly,” Barton said, clearly looking for words other than ‘magic’ to explain how the System worked. “It’s like 3D printing, but much faster. Having raw materials will make things easier, though.”

“Buy lumber, concrete, rebar, siding, then,” George said. “If what you’re saying ain’t bullshit, we can gather those a lot more easily.

“We’re going to burn through all our liquid assets, if we do that,” Fred countered. He hadn’t contributed much to the discussion. “What happens if it all turns out to be bullshit?”

“If it is, you can have all the gold I’ve got,” Roland said. “That’s well over two million bucks.”

“I think we can discount the idea that this is bullshit,” Gorman said, giving Fred a pointed look. “How many of those 993 coins have started popping up, Fred?”

“As of this morning, all the numismatic forums are talking about little else. At least four hundred confirmed coin sales. Thirty countries, every continent. Interpol is already investigating. The Feebs will be on it tomorrow.” He shrugged. “Okay, I don’t think it’s bullshit, either.”

“Good. First thing we’ve got to jettison is the mindset that we can live under the old rules,” Gorman told his brother before turning to Roland.

“We’ll get the materials. I’ve got seventy acres in my name. Mostly fields and wooded buffers. Have two wells tapping a bedrock aquifer – plenty of those in Litchfield County, by the way; that can help support a larger population than currently lives there, even without System witchcraft.”

“A week isn’t a long time to do all this,” Buford warned. “And we don’t know if we’ve got a week.”

The doomsday timer was accelerating. Integration was now 183 hours away, plus or minus 72 hours.

“We should expect to have no more than three days,” Roland told him. “Things are accelerating.”

“Very well,” Gorman said. “Let’s get this signed. We’ll get the ball rolling and then you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

You have signed a System Contract with Gorman Frederick Acosta.

The bargain included taking Gorman, Fred and George to a Dungeon and have them inducted into the System. Trixie would guide Bob and Barton to a Dungeon near Litchfield County.

Dungeons were popping up all over the place, most dormant, except for the spawning ones that were spewing out covert teams to plant their seeds.

While they did that, Roland would meet with the others, drop them and Mandy off at Gorman’s house and then get to work clearing Dungeons solo. The fewer Dungeons there were near his eventual Safe Zone, the better things would go.

He wouldn’t clear them all, though. As more people joined them, they would need to be run through a Dungeon as well. Anybody willing to be a fighter, a defender, would have to do that and grab a combat Class. The rest could make do with whatever the System gave them on Integration day.

Three days. If we’re lucky.

*

Roland met Mandy and the others at Bob’s house. Bob and Barton were already on their Dungeon-clearing mission.

“My parents are being buttheads,” Dahlia reported. “They refused to hear me out until they came home from work. I almost dragged them back into the house. Almost.”

“I called my parents,” Wendy said. “It didn’t go well. And if we try to drive to Ohio to get them, we will die on the road. I’m certain of it.”

“Do you know how much longer we have?”

The haunted look she’d had when he met her was back. “Too many factors. Too many powerful people doing reckless, stupid things. But it’s not going to be long. Five days if nothing major happens. Two or three if it does.”

Roland glanced at the timer. It hadn’t jumped ahead since the last time, minutes and hours rolling down normally. But that could change without warning.

“Time to move to Salisbury, then,” he said. “Dahlia, you can have my car. Bring your parents when they get off work. Or leave them be for now. If the hammer doesn’t drop tomorrow, you can try again. I’ll ride with you two to Gorman’s place,” he told the twins. “We’ll clean out Bob’s gun safe – I’ve got the keys – and all his supplies before we leave.”

“I’m just annoyed I can’t summon Bloodykee,” Dahlia grumbled as they started throwing guns, MREs and freeze-dried food into their inventories.

“Yeah, that’d attract a little too much attention,” Roland agreed.

“I can probably figure out a Glamour that will let it look like a cat or a dog,” Wendy said, touching ammo boxes and making them disappear. “When I get me next level, I can pick a new Glamour Skill.”

“A cat would be good. They rule, dogs drool. Thank you.”

That hardly had any snark, Roland thought. Maybe she’s mellowing out.

Dahlia:

“Do I need to show you something else?” she asked, trying to keep her cool.

“What is happening?” her mother wailed. “Morty, make her stop!”

I sure as hell didn’t get my IQ from her, Dahlia growled mentally. “Mom. This is serious. Have you seen the news? The animal attacks, disappearances, all that weird crap?”

“You’ve joined some kind of cult,” her mother said. “I knew Dungeons and Dragons would warp your mind.”

“Like that movie with Tom Hanks,” her father – good old Morty – agreed. “Dahlia, you need help.”

Dahlia facepalmed. The floating glowing card trick hadn’t convinced them. Tossing their big screen TV into her inventory had only pissed them off when she brought it back and the damn thing toppled over and broke.

“Okay, how’s this? Goryfly, come help me!”

There was a low thunderous rumble and a red-winged butterfly the size of a seagull appeared in the living room. Goryfly perched on a lamp and tucked in her wings.

“Gory,” she said in a sweet voice.

Her mother shrieked! “Kill it! Kill it, Morty!”

“Uh, hum, I think it’s just sitting there, dear,” Morty said. “And it talks.”

“Gory gory,” the butterfly told him.

“Make it go away, Dahlia. I’m begging you. Make it go away!”

“Fine, Mom!”

Dahlia dismissed the Fiend, annoyed at losing a card for twenty-four hours for a stupid demonstration. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to kill anybody before tomorrow, because besides Bloodykee she only had Rattabatta in her hand.

“Now, parents dearest,” she told them in a sarcastically sweet tone. “If you don’t want me to call another monster and scare the shit out of you, you will pack up. I’m going to my room to grab my things. When I come up, you better be packed up. And then I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“Morty, call the cops.”

“Okay, I’ve had it. Bloodykee, come help me!” More thunder.

That shut Mom up.

“Kee,” her best Fiend forever said in his nicest tone.

“Another one,” she gasped, too shocked to go into another bout of hysterics.

“This is how it’s going to be,” Dahlia told them. “I’m taking your phones, and I’m having Bloodykee keep an eye on you while you pack. Then we’re all getting in the family car and we’re going to a safe place.”

“I think we better do as she says, Marsha,” Morty said.

Taking my parents hostage wasn’t on my bingo card, Dahlia thought.

What happened next sort of was.

*

She noticed the lock was broken. Someone had broken into the converted garage that had been her on-again, off-again home for several years. The door had been forced, then placed back in a way most people wouldn’t have noticed. Dahlia’s eyesight and memory quickly determined what had happened; she could even hear someone breathing inside.

Grinning to herself, she went in.

“Surprise, bitch,” Vittorio ‘Victor’ Moretti said.

He looked skinnier than before, and shorter. Dahlia was at least two inches taller and had lost maybe twenty pounds, so now he looked like a scrawny kid by comparison. He was shirtless, tattoos in display. And he had a big hunting knife in his hand. She’d bought it for him to celebrate their first month together. He never gave it back.

“When did you get out?” she asked him, closing the door behind her. Best to keep this private; her parents were already dealing with enough crap.

“Yesterday,” Victor growled. “Pled out. Now I got a record, thanks to you. Felony.”

“And you’re here to kill me,” Dahlia said matter-of-factly.

“Yes!”

“Okay, no problem.” She pulled out her phone.

“Call 911 all you want, bitch, I’m going to carve you up before they get here.”

“I’m not calling 911. Just need this on the record.”

“What? You really are fucking insane.”

“I’ll be right with you. Just answer this before you start with the killing, okay?” She aimed the phone camera at him. “Victor, did I trick you into coming here?”

“What? No, you stupid cow! I’ve been waiting for you to come home since yesterday. Your asshole parents just woke me up with all the yelling.”

The casual insult got to her. “Cow? You still think I’m fat?”

The question made him take a second look. “Okay, no. You on Ozempic or something? Still going to end you. But maybe I’ll have some fun first.”

“Okay, I’ve got you on video. That’s what, two capital felonies you are planning? I’m surprised you only want to ‘have fun’ before killing me and not after. You were always such a try-hard edgelord.”

“You are such a fucking lunatic. Don’t you understand I’ve got a knife?”

She didn’t know you could grin so hard that your face would begin to hurt.

“Oh, Victor. This is the first time you have satisfied me.”

Victor grolwed more obscenities and rushed her.

She caught his wrist with her hand and squeezed until stuff began to pop. The knife dropped to the floor and his screams changed into cries of pain.

However, despite being a skinny bastard, he still outweighed Dahlia by a good forty pounds, and physics still mattered. He bodily lifted and slammed her against the wall. The crash was hard enough to make all her bookcases rattle. When she didn’t let of his broken wrist, he started hitting her with his free arm, full-power punches.

It felt like being in a pillow fight. With her Constitution, normal humans couldn’t hurt her without guns or power tools.

Still, it got annoying, so she slapped him back. The results were nasty from a dental and aesthetic perspective. It also marked the end of the fight. 

Victor’s actual deletion wasn’t as gruesome as she kind of wanted to make it. Because Captain Death wouldn’t approve. And, strangely enough, she wanted him to approve of her.

I’ve got issues, she admitted to herself after she broke Victor’s neck.

But I’m working on them.

*

“Is everything okay?” Morty asked her when she walked back in. He and Marsha had been packing up just as they’d been told, Bloodykee watching them like a hawk. A fluffy, lovable hawk. “I thought I heard a scream.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Dahlia said. “Just was doing some cleansing exercises. Getting rid of some spiritual garbage.”

“Oh, okay. I thought you were going to pack your things.”

“I did. Magical storage space, remember?” She pointed at a packed suitcase and made it disappear, making them both flinch.

Marsha seemed calmer, though. The half-empty bottle of Pinot probably had a lot to do with it.

“It’s going to be okay,” she told them. “Just make sure to pack everything, because I don’t think you’ll want to come back.”

Dahlia figured that by the time somebody discovered Victor, the Apocalypse would be under way.