These events take place shortly following @cloudbattrolls Repentance storyline.
Toyhou.se version here.
"Every day now, I find myself in the same place."
"I walk along the old corridor. The air is thick with rot. I can see their faces looking up at from below. Broken bones, chemical burns, most with their flesh melted right from the skull."
"They reach for me as I march, splintered fingers clutching at my boots as they try to pull me through."
"The exit leads to a forest, one that I never recognize. Then I meet it, the blackened creature that waits for me. Every day, I never get close enough to reach it. Its blank head turns towards me, and I wake up."
"Today, however, something new happened."
"Today, it tilted towards me, then it smiled, though it lacked any mouth to do so with. I merely felt it smile. No. That is not correct."
"I smiled. I felt happy. A sense of relief passed through me as joy filled my heart."
"I awoke still feeling that joy, and now I copy that feeling here before it passes."
Platar set the pen down on his desk, running a hand through his moderately shaggy head of hair. It had been perigees now that these dreams had continued, but this new development was a big problem.
He had not yet managed to track any information on what exactly the thing was that had marked him so long ago. All he had was a small sample of the rot that it had left him with.
He turned in his chair, checking the computer monitoring the quarantine. It showed a room locked behind thick metal doors, a glass case on a pedestal in the center. Inside of it was the carcass of a desert rat he had retrieved. Its body was decomposing at a rapid rate, already half skeletal despite only being dead a night.
What remained of its flesh was marked by a softly pulsating series of black bands, almost resembling severe burns. The rot had to be fed to stay alive, and his experiments had shown it held no interest in being fed old plants.
He looked back at his journal, chewing the inside of his mouth. This was not possible to conclude on alone. The world was getting worse. A city simply obliterated by... something. Just gone. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make a difference, even with his strange abilities. That one group had ignored him, but...
He had been hearing rumors lately, of some sort of machine-hunter...
=====
The stranger wove between the other trolls delicately, robes fluttering about their heels. The only sound in the room were the muffled cries of the persons struggling to try and rise from their chairs. Though nothing visibly bound them to the seats they were in, sweat poured off of each as they tried to stand, to move even one muscle that wasn't restricted to their faces.
The stranger wore a timid smile, the only part of their face visible beneath their hood, as they pushed the chairs into a circle, with each troll facing inward. They paused beside a brownblood, who had tears trickling down his cheeks.
"No tears, please," they whispered, whisking the wetness from his cheeks with a flick of their sleeve. "It's a waste."
The troll's eyes shook wildly as they looked at the stranger, who returned their look with that same smile as they proceeded to the center of the circle. The living room of this hive had been cleared of everything but for a chair in the middle and the trolls arranged in a wide circle on the edges. A few sleeping bags were still wadded up in the corner of the room. Through the blackout curtains on the windows, the rays of the setting sun could still be seen.
The six trolls here were lowbloods in all, ranging from red to yellow. The stranger sat down on the chair in the center, drawing a hand to their throat. "Thank you for the invitation, we will gladly accept your assistance," they whispered.
Their hand sharply plunged towards their own throat, flesh bubbling and beginning to melt.
======
"Which brings us to this kind of fucked up thing that turned up recently," Garsad said, clicking his remote and moving the slideshow to the next slide.
The slide was a picture of a rather mediocre looking hive, the only standout thing about it were the only slightly ominous looking stains on the interiors of the front facing windows.
He, along with Xrumon and Avanti, were crammed into the too-small back room of the cheapest storefront they could have afforded for their meager little group. The wallpaper was peeling, there were some mild cracks in the foundation, and if the sole lamp in the room was on, it probably would have been flickering. There were some shelves with nothing on them pushed to the sides of the room, with the middle being taken up by a cart with a computer and a projector on it. The other two trolls were just in front of it and off to the sides on their own chairs. A single, ancient landline phone sat on the wall.
"Moreso than the entire city that up and left?" Xrumon groused, chafing in the uncomfortable folding chair he was forced to use.
"Well yeah, I mean. What do we even do about that? That's like. An ant trying to worry about a lawnmower," Garsad replied, shrugging. "Besides, your boss made it out, right?"
"Feh. Not much of a boss now since the factory went-" the teal snapped his fingers, grumbling. "Anyway, forget it."
"Did you send Alpha to check it out already?" Avanti asked.
"There's nothing to check. Whole place is cordoned off by the navy, I'm not sending those twitchy bastards something fucked up like our science project to shoot at."
Garsad cleared his throat, pressing the remote again. The next slide showed the interior of the hive, specifically the living room. Xrumon winced, feeling his stomach churn slightly.
Avanti, as well, pursed her lips and leaned forward in her seat, looking slightly more pale.
"Not a fan of censorship? Is this why we're doing this before breakfast?" Xrumon complained.
"Yeah, actually," Garsad nodded. "You need the raw details, man! Plus, I mean, look. There's actually important stuff here besides the guy's int-"
"Skip to the relevant parts, please," Avanti chimed in.
The brownblood picked up a laser pointer and gestured with it over the slide. The laser danced across the photo of the room in a distinct pattern, matching the whorls of blood seen in it.
"See this here? It's a little pattern I saw. Patterns are like, big shit in the supernatural world. From what I've learned anyway," he began. Xrumon wryly noted he appeared to also be avoiding looking too much at the scene pictured. "But this one? I haven't seen any like this in what I can get my hands on. But it's definitely deliberate."
He clicked to the next slide, a photograph of the same room from another angle, and his laser danced about again.
"See? Same pattern, bigger. In circles, over and over around the whole room."
"You sure it's not the workings of your average blitzed out subjug?" Xrumon asked, only mildly joking.
"Nah nah, they try to paint with their shit. Always looks terrible, probably since they're mad doped off their sopor pies and shit soda. This is delicate and precise, which, uh, hides pretty well behind everything else."
"So what do you think it is? Any theories?" Avanti asked.
"I think... I think it's some kind of message. You can, you know, call things, I think, if you write the right message. Usually it's names, like how you write a letter and put my name on it?" the mechanic tried to explain, stumbling only slightly as his brain tried to reach all memories needed. "This, I think, is like that. Like a.... a.... hailing?"
"A beacon," Xrumon said, earning a nod.
"Yeah, that! You know bloody mary and all? Say her name three times? Well this pattern, I think, is like that. So I think it's supposed to represent something. And, you know. Call it. Message it?"
"Well what the hell kind of shape is it? I can barely make it out past the viscera and your stupid laser pointer!"
Garsad clicked to the next slide, a photograph taken from the ceiling's point of view.
"...Is that an eye?" Xrumon asked. Something inside him went deathly chill at the sight of it.
======
Corelo pinched the bridge of his nose, drumming the fingers of his other hand on his desk.
When the highbloods had started acting nicer, that had been worrying. When everyone started clearing off the streets, that had been concerning.
When the navy destroyers appeared on the horizon and the city seemed to begin to twist and mutate, that had been catastrophic.
Fortunately, most of the mob's people had been able to escape. His hand moved from his nose to the beeper laying still in front of him, next to his notepad. It paid to have backup communications available, and doubly so to have escape routes, bugout bags, and tunnels ready.
He could still easily recall the strained silence as his group had sped out of the city, explosions and lasers lighting up the darkness behind them in the sky. Then the blinding flash as the city decided it had no business being here and simply vanished, like a god had scooped it right from the ground with a cosmic melon baller.
Now, back at his office, he was trying to figure out what to even do. Membership loss had been minimal, but any inroads he had been making into the city were obviously vaporized. That was a substantial loss of revenue, even if there had been nothing he could have done to prevent it. Nobody at all knew what the hell had happened, and if the empire knew, it certainly wasn't about to tell people how it had failed.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then checked the potted plant in the corner for the fiftieth time. It was still perfectly plastic and dead, as it should be. All plants were banned from the office after what had been witnessed happening in the stars above some perigees ago. Odd shit seemed to be happening at an increased pace. He grit his teeth.
He was tired of this, this feeling of lack of control, of always being on the backfoot. He would never rise up further in the ranks if he was always having his fronts lost to the void or his members being culled by some sort of psionic serial killer (though that, at least, seemed to have stopped), or rogue members going around attacking hospitals.
He paused. He'd had everyone pore over the information on that case. The doctor he'd kept tabs on. She was in some sort of caravan, doing medical work, followed around occasionally by some odd other troll he'd never been able to get anything on. Sure, he could probably order some form of reprisal on her, but that wouldn't gain anything, especially with how far she had moved from their operations.
But that wasn't what he was concerned about. Odd shit. There had been that one report of a bizarre robot that had arrived one night to see her.
His eyes darted to his rolodex. He flicked through the cards in it until he came to the one he wanted. He opened a drawer in his desk and picked out a phone at random, flipping it open and dialing the number as he retrieved a notebook from a different drawer.
"Hi, I've got a friend who's celebrating something soon," he said as soon as the call was answered. "I'm looking for gift ideas. Do you know anything about a..."
He flipped through the notebook for a few pages.
"Xrumon Arigah? I think he likes mechanical stuff, but I haven't been able to reach him."
There was silence on the other end for a few moments. Then: "We have a few options in stock. Would you prefer us to perform further research on what they may enjoy?"
"That would be wonderful, thank you. You can send a letter to my post box." Corelo replied, hanging up shortly after.
That robot had been odd. That doctor had been odd. But that teal had remained in the background until he'd been forced to come forward.
Well, maybe it was time to shed some light on his involvement, and on that machine.
“There’s a rogue AI just kind of surfing across this entire city”
Corelo: Send out the encoded messages via hand-delivery, nobody’s using so much as a cell phone unless you’re doing it in the codes we will now be changing by perigee.
> You put the old clamshell phone down, snapping it closed with one hand.
> You reach out with your other hand and pop the sim card from the device before snapping both to pieces and tossing them into a trash can at your feet for later incineration.
> You take out a piece of paper from your desk drawer, then quietly load it into your typewriter. The keys click loudly as you work.
“(Mem(o) t(o) all staff. We will n(o)w (o)nly use plastic plants in (o)ur main (o)ffices.)”
Alpha kept its customized pistol drawn on the approaching troll, who radiated an impressive amount of threat despite his raised hands. The robot's limited ability to sense 'magic', such as it was, could still sense it coming off of him in waves.
He was dressed head to toe in a trenchcoat, a gas mask covering his face, a helmet on his head, gloves for his hands, and military boots on his feet.
"I have no quarrel with you," he said, stopping five feet apart from the machine.
Alpha considered this. He had openly called out to the machine as it patrolled these plains, approaching in a highly visible direction in an area with very little to hide behind. The sensor suite installed into it detected no other sapient presence. It did not lower the pistol.
"State your purpose," the machine responded, tone flat.
"My name is Platar," he answered. "I seek outside assistance. There is a strange being that contacted me, connected to mannequins. I am unable to combat it on my own."
"I have tracked the rumors about you. You are one that hunts like other hunters, but without tire. That you are constructed means someone gives you instructions. That you have not been destroyed means they are likely someone competent."
Alpha's eyes flickered momentarily as the information processed through it. Its limited cognitive functions were not designed to handle extended social interaction.
"Entity: Mannequins recognized. What is the nature of assistance you request?" it eventually asked, still keeping the weapon raised.
"I have... a part of it, I believe," the anonymous-caste said, a trace of disgust in his voice. "But my ability to study it is limited. I am a soldier, not a scientist. It is also very dangerous. I want to speak to your superior. If I think them competent, I can transfer a small part of it. In exchange, I demand entry to this group of fellow hunters."
Alpha buzzed slightly as it crunched through the information it had just received. "We will not bring you to the Council. Transfer ownership of dangerous anomaly immediately."
This would be the part of the movie where the gun dramatically cocked, but Alpha had ensured it was ready to fire the second it was drawn. Platar stared back at it.
"Surely your owners must understand, I cannot risk giving this to someone who will use it unwisely," he replied, subtly shifting his stance at the same time, lowering his center of gravity. "I need assurances. This material killed a pair of monsters that could have annihilated military units easily."
Alpha's eyes flickered again, aim moving towards the center of Platar's chest as it registered the shift in stance.
"Second request: Transfer ownership-"
"Stand down," crackled Xrumon's voice, albeit inside Alpha's 'mind.' "You can't kill people for being cautious. Well, you can, but you generally shouldn't."
"We cannot risk the Council's safety," Alpha replied internally. On the outside, it seemed to be simply staring at Platar.
The anon was unsure of what to do. The machine had abruptly cut itself off, but its aim was not wavering. He knew this was risky, but simply waiting around for outside help had proven worthless.
"Alpha," Xrumon spoke again, "Use the comm relay. I can speak to him through it."
"Understood," Alpha said aloud, causing a quizzical look from the other troll. The machine held up its left hand, palm upwards. The inside of the palm shifted, revealing a small sphere, glowing teal. From it came a projection.
The projection depicted a figure in silhouette, seeming to stand in mid-air. "You're lucky it didn't blow your head off," the projection spoke, voice distorted to the point the gender was unidentifiable.
"I assume you have been made aware of my offer?" Platar answered, ignoring the statement.
"Correct. What proof do you have of this supposed danger of what you have?" the figure said, leaning forward slightly.
"None. When I killed those monsters, I destroyed them utterly. If you want to experiment on the substance yourself, you can easily do so with my sample," the anon replied. "It must be kept in a self-contained environment. It feeds on flesh, spreads like a fungus, but at a thousandfold pace."
"Sounds dangerous," the figure agreed, though it didn't sound impressed. Alpha raised the projection slightly higher, giving the impression that the figure was looking down on Platar.
"And how, or moreover, why should we provide 'proof' of our competence to you? Do you think it impossible to terminate you and track this substance to your hive?"
If he could have snorted through his mask, Platar would have. "Doable, at cost to your machine. Waste of time and effort, you would deny yourself an ally. Doing so would indicate incredible stupidity, thus solving my question immediately."
He paused, then added: "Sample will be incinerated if I do not return to my hive within a set time and put in code. You do not have the time to track it down and crack my passwords."
"That could just be a bluff," the figure hummed.
"Are you willing to risk knowledge for paranoia?" Platar calmly asked.
The figure grew silent for several moments.
"Then let us return to 'how'," it finally said.
"You will let me observe your methods. I maintain control over sample while you study it. We both gain knowledge, I take minimal risk of stupidity killing planet."
"You expect us to let you into our base so easily?"
"That is the risk you must take."
The group and solitary troll stared each other down for several minutes, the silence growing thick enough to cut with a knife.
"It will take time to prepare a safe environment," the projection eventually said. "Come back here in a week. Our machine will guide you the rest of the way. Be alone, or don't bother at all."
The projection cut out, and Alpha lowered his raised hand.
"Very well. Closed air environment. No contamination," Platar emphasized, shooting a pointed look at the machine. "I will be here, robot. Do not make me wait in the sun."
Alpha did not reply beyond lowering its gun. Platar took a few steps back, lowering his hands again. Both troll and machine watched each other carefully as they began to walk away from each other.
=====
"So, ideas on how to get a closed environment set up?" Garsad asked, turning in his chair to face the other two, once again in the back room of the office.
"An aquarium surrounded by a bigger aquarium?" Xrumon suggested sarcastically. "That's the sort of place a hospital has, but there's no way we can keep something that dangerous in a hospital. Especially not with that goggle eyed freak standing over it the whole time."
"Do we even have the room here for something new? I don't think the landlord will accept us knocking down a few walls," Avanti pointed out, adjusting her glasses. "We could easily get an airtight cage for the sample itself, but we can't really experiment on it if we can't take it out. That needs its own room. Plus, ideally an airlock or decontamination room between that and the rest of the building."
"I'm not sure I have enough blood plasma to sell to afford that," Xrumon sighed.
The bell at the front of the shop rang. Xrumon cursed.
"What the hell is it now? Garsad?"
"I'm on it," the brownblood said with a nod, brushing past Xrumon to go deal with whatever was at the front of the store.
"So... bank loan?" Xrumon asked, mostly sarcastic.
"I'm not sure most banks are willing to loan money for cryptid hunters," Avanti sighed. She sounded actually disappointed at that.
"Hey, Xrumon?" Garsad called from the front. "It's for you."
With an aggravated growl, Xrumon pulled himself to his feet and lumbered through the door to the front.
"What? Is a customer bitching that perfect defense drone stubbed their toe?" Xrumon complained, rounding the corner to the counter from behind a shelf blocking the back door.
His eyes landed on the person waiting at the counter next to Garsad and he kept right on complaining.
"No, no, get out. We don't do deals with you lot," he shook his head, stumping right up to the counter and giving the troll a gimlet eye.
Said troll was dressed in a full suit and tie, complete with little pocket kerchief. He wore a trilby, cocked at an annoying angle. Then again, everything about him was annoying to Xrumon, right down to the grey symbol stitched on the other side of his chest.
"C'mon pallie, don't make me do the cliche," the man said, squinting back at Xrumon. "I'm just here to give you's a message."
"My answering machine is full," Xrumon shot back. Garsad gave him a pained glance, but the suited troll chuckled.
"Wiseguy, eh? He told me you'd be funny," he replied, flipping a note onto the counter from within his coat. "It's a pretty swank deal, you dig? At least read what he bothered to write. Didn't even tell me to break kneecaps! You gotta be special."
"Get. Out," Xrumon growled, grip hardening on his cane. Garsad put an arm in front of him, looking to the other troll.
"Yeah, you're gonna wanna go soon," the brownblood said. "He's a real pissy son of a bitch."
"Alright, alright! I'mma goin', don't have a heart attack!" the troll said, raising his hands as he walked back out, the bell on the door ringing behind him.
"God damned mobsters," Xrumon breathed, glaring at the back of the man as he left. "Already trying to shake us down? Since when was this their turf?"
Garsad had already snatched up the note, anticipating Xrumon trying to tear it up. He glanced at it as his friend spoke, raising an eyebrow. "Not a shakedown. I don't think. It says they want to discuss a... well, arrangement. Someplace neutral."
"What the hell place could possibly be neutral to the mob!?" Xrumon spat, still fuming.
"...The clinic?" Garsad answered, wincing in advance as Xrumon's blood pressure visibly increased a few notches. "Now hold on, hold on! They ain't gonna do a hit or anything in full view of the clinic! You know that!"
"Yeah! I do! But the fucking NERVE!" he hissed, hand holding his cane shaking. "What could they possibly want!?"
"I think that's the point of having the meeting," Garsad replied.
Avanti came out from the back, a quizzical look on her face. "What's with all the yelling?"
"The mob wants to talk to him," Garsad said.
"The mob? To him?" she said, surprised. "They weren't here to ask for protection money? Wow. A rare win for us."
Xrumon groaned. "This is why we need more staff! Or any staff at all! This isn't shit I should be doing!"
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," Avanti said, amused, as she patted him on the shoulder. "When's the meeting?"
Garsad spoke up. "Tomorrow, two in the morning."
"Wonderful, I'll get my beauty sleep..." Xrumon sighed.
It was going to be an interminable wait, he just knew it.
=====
Xrumon stared blankly ahead. This is what kept him sane. He sat on a bench just across from the crown clinic, pretending this was a normal night. Every passer-by he ignored completely, just like the man on the roof waving at him while holding a rifle. That thing he ignored the most of all.
To his credit, he didn't even startle when a troll in a suit sat next to him, unfolding a newspaper. He also knew enough to not even bother looking at him.
"Was the sniper necessary? We're not so brazen as to kill you in full view of the public," came the soft voice from the other troll as he flicked through the paper.
"He insisted. This is still Crown Clinic property," Xrumon huffed, keeping his hands on the cane sitting between his legs.
"I see," came the reply, followed by the rustling of paper. "I am aware of your limited patience, so I will dispense with formalities and get to the part you should concern yourself about."
"Oh joy, he's aware of me..." the teal sighed.
"Your personality isn't exactly subtle, nor is your history particularly difficult to research," the other troll said. Xrumon heard the sound of glasses being adjusted before he continued. "Nevertheless: We would like to extend an offer of cash. In exchange for services to be rendered."
"Oh, is that all? Can we get to the part where I tell you to get fucked? That's my favorite part!" Xrumon snapped back, fingers tightening on the head of his cane.
"Your organization's funding makes 'shoestring' look like an overstatement," the other troll replied smoothly, unrattled. "The streamer's donations, the sales of security droids, your new position in another security company, it's never going to be enough."
"We know you have some manner of pet project going on inside the clinic- Don't be hasty," he continued, shaking the paper with a snap when Xrumon started to round on him at the mention of the project. "We aren't going to touch it. This is neutral ground. We haven't set one toe inside the Clinic, you have my word."
"Get to the god damn point you bedazzled twerp," Xrumon hissed back, forcing himself by sheer will to keep his eyes centered on the street ahead.
"You need money, my organization needs a service, it's mutually beneficial. We certainly cannot sink all the money you need in, but certainly something better than that... store to operate out of should be doable."
"What's the fucking thing you need so I can tell you to shove it up your ass?"
The other troll made an amused sound. "You know that city, Civitrecce? Rhetorical, everyone does. We lost a lot of profit when that was taken, along with some good trolls, including one of my capos."
"We know about your machine as well, at least that it appears to be hunting all manner of beasts and occasionally trolls. That indicates your group is focused on the sort of thing that may steal cities away from us," he continued. "We want you to get that city back. Or, if it comes back of its own accord, find what made it disappear. If it was a phenomenon, we want it documented. If it was a person, we want them dead."
"Do I look like a fucking gun for hire? Do your own dirty work, I'm not getting cash from the god damn mob!" Xrumon spat, teeth on edge.
The paper rustled again. "We're not QPIN, mister Arigah, even you must acknowledge that. You complete our service, we go our separate ways. If you want a loan, of course, we can also make that happen."
Xrumon snorted. "'Not QPIN' indeed. What's your real angle? That cash you might be offering won't have an ROI."
"I am tired of being on the backfoot, mister Arigah, that is all. This is not the first strange event to befall our group. Consider it a form of networking. You need associates, maybe not another partner, but something to expand your reach. I can even assist with selling your front business to other clients... for a small finder's fee of course."
"There's always a cut, isn't there? Hmph," Xrumon grumbled, shaking his head. "There's a place you lot moved to a bit ago, right? I still have some old connections. Said you iced out another gang, the Marked."
"We are always expanding our horizons," the other troll replied calmly.
"Did you have to kill those dumb bastards when they fought back? You could have just roughed them up. That's a giant stepping on an ant, what you did."
"Assuming I am aware of what you're talking about, I would also hypothesize that not stamping out armed rebellion immediately would be taken as a sign of weakness in the underworld."
The teal shook his head. "And I take it you wouldn't give the place back to them for anything?"
There was a pause. More quiet rustling. "Civitrecce is worth far more than that mere pit-stop. If you were able to retrieve the city and find the cause as well as help assure our dominance over the other, far worse organizations in it... A case could be made for more efficient resource allocation."
"Sell my soul to the devil, is that it? How fitting. In front of an old QPIN front."
"One does not fight the horrors hiding in the shine of light with well wishes and a clean conscience."
"Where the hell's that from?"
"Personal musings, mister Arigah, that is all."
Silence fell between the two for a few minutes. Xrumon's brow furrowed heavily.
"You fucks love your contracts, don't they?"
"Under your seat, mister Arigah."
Rolling his eyes, the teal mimicked bending over to tie his shoelaces up, retrieving a package that he could have sworn was definitely not there when he had sat down. It was a brown envelope. Plain. Innocent looking.
He carefully opened it, taking out a sheaf of papers. The hallmark of the Grey Mob: Endless fucking red tape. He glanced through it a couple times. The terms were plain as the look on a dead man's face. A stipend of cash now, plus recurring payments for any discoveries in his group's research that could be made profitable. A massive bonus for finding the cause of the city's disappearance.
"Of course," the mobster continued, "We'll have to update it for your supposed interest in that other place, along with any other changes we may decide on at a later time.
"Fuck off," Xrumon sighed. "We're not giving you any of our discoveries, I'll just cross this part out for you." He took a pen from his pocket, neatly crossing that section from the contract off. "One stipend. We make our own money. That's the rule."
"Naturally," the mobster replied, unbothered. "But my offer of networking still stands. That is still 'making your own' money, just with a little help."
"Hmph," the teal grunted, scribbling more into the contract. He placed the sheaf down next to himself. After a few moments, the other troll took it, keeping the paper open with one hand as he glanced through it.
"Covering your bases, are we? We weren't even thinking of that, but I understand the caution," he said. "The cut is twenty percent. That is more than fair. Ten percent is almost an insult, mister Arigah."
"Almost? Damn, I must be getting rusty."
"Charming. Twenty?"
"Fifteen."
"Eighteen."
"Sixteen."
"Eighteen."
"Fuck off, fine, eighteen."
"Sign at the bottom, your stipend will be delivered in a manner most discreet. I am sure you're aware we will need progress updates on whatever it is you end up doing?"
Xrumon cursed at him, earning another amused noise as the teal took the contract back. He sighed again, then signed at the bottom. At least he had cut out the worst parts. He wouldn't make the mistake Ullane had. Giving one city to the mob was bad, but... They were still the least of the worst options.
"A pleasure, mister Arigah. Say hello to mister Fissaa for me as well, and pass miss Friday my well wishes on her new position. Well, it may be old to her at this point, but..."
"Will you just fuck off and let my soul rot in peace?
The mobster didn't reply for several minutes, until he wrapped his newspaper back up after some time and quietly walked away. A carbon copy of the contract was tucked into his arm, along with the newspaper.
"Well. Maybe the deal will keep Amprus from murdering me," Xrumon sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.
=========
"I have to say, I am impressed you got this good of a deal and am also horrified at the cost," Avanti hummed, hands clasped behind her as the three stood in front of their new premises.
"What? Not a fan of getting into the recuperacoon with the mob?" Xrumon grumbled, grinding his teeth.
"No, I have to say that's pretty bad," Avanti answered. "But I get why you did it. Hopefully we can fulfill the terms of the bargain before this really bites us in the ass."
"I'm gonna sweep the whole place for bugs, I just know those fucks left about a million listening devices in there somehow on top of the usual empire ones," Garsad said, arms folded with a sour look on his face.
The place chosen for them was its own building, an abandoned hospital that shut down since it was too remote to make much of a profit. This area of the city had been planned to be more developed, but the population growth... simply never came. A quirk of the chaotic nature of trolls and urban planning. Now the streets here were mostly desolate, a sparse population of only lowbloods that seemed to survive off a combination of scavenging or commuting to places actually worth living in.
The hospital itself was fairly worn down looking, windows bedraggled and broken, main doorway sagging, and more than a few cobwebs hanging from its severely gothic style of architecture. Xrumon felt a few gargoyle statues wouldn't have been out of place.
Not only that, in order to maximize space efficiency, the hospital had already been partly dug underground rather than scaling into the sky. The property lines for it stretched fairly widely (to the chagrin of its neighbors, or at least if there were any) to allow for this.
"Let's just get to work. We gotta move all our current shit in there, and then that airtight place we need..." Xrumon began, only for Avanti to speak up.
"That's easily done. We can simply repurpose one of the quarantine wards. It should come with a decontamination room for any infectious diseases, though I imagine we'll need to restock the actual decontaminating fluids by now."
"And the bugs?" Xrumon looked to Garsad, who held up a strange looking metallic baton, complete with wires and doodads hanging off of it.
"I'll get the whole place, top to bottom. Those formal fucks want to hear from us, it'll be direct and not through some shit they shoved into a wall crack when we picked up the deed."
Xrumon nodded, lowering his eyes to the ground. What was that saying about the devil's toys?
=========
"A hospital? Inspired choice," Platar said, watching the other trolls carefully.
The five of them were gathered in the only partially restored hospital reception area. Most of the spiderwebs had been cleared away by now, and there were a few potted plants, but the ancient 'ST. HURTUS' sign hanging over the entryway still needed to be taken down.
"Far away from others. Would have preferred a bunker, easier to defend. You are vulnerable to a direct assault, very few ways to defend appropriately here."
Xrumon looked to Alpha, who quietly remained behind the anonymous troll. "I think our security needs for now are covered, but your input is appreciated mister Hacalo."
He nodded. "As it should be, if I am to join you."
"Does that mean you think we're competent yet?" the teal drawled.
Platar shrugged. "I have seen very little, hard to say. But this is enough to give a chance at least. Will look forward to working as part of team. Other soldiers here?"
Garsad shook his head. "You're it, pal. Well, you and Alpha back there."
Platar turned his head. "I am to work with the machine?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "...Acceptable, depending on machine's functions."
"Separately, for now," Xrumon corrected. "Let me make myself clear: We're in the saving lives business, not the wanton slaughter one, soldier boy. You go off half cocked and killing everyone in your way, Alpha will tear your spine out personally."
"Very well. Not the first time I have heard such threats, more or less," the anon replied, a brownblood coming to mind. Would they want to know about this? Possibly. He doubted they would be interested in joining, however. Especially for the current salary of nothing.
"Ahem," Avanti cleared her throat. "The sample?"
"You have a place to keep it safe?" Platar asked.
"No shit, asshole," Xrumon snorted. "Follow me. Mind the mess all over the fucking place"
It was a short journey to the staircase (the elevator was still being repaired) and down to the first underground level. The lighting was still incredibly patchy in the building, and the walls and floors weren't much better. There were a lot of suspicious looking stains on the floor as well, including a really bad paint job of what looked like a blood trail leading from one ward to an operating room.
Behind two sets of freshly restored, heavyset doors, was the restored quarantine area: A moderately large room that stood vastly apart from the rest of the grimy facility by virtue of its cleaned appearance and actual lighting.
In the back of the room was a small cage inset in the wall. It appeared to be made of tempered glass, and had instruments built into it for remote manipulation and sampling. A small door on the side allowed for an arm's reach into the cage, kept guarded by a physical keyhole on the door.
"Ah, an appropriate sized prison. How fortunate," Platar remarked.
"Well when you said you would bring it, I used my massive brain to guess that it probably wasn't a very big thing," Xrumon replied sarcastically.
"A joke. I get those," Platar nodded, earning puzzled looks between the other trolls. The anon proceeded to the cage, opening the door before taking the sample from his fetch modus. It was a small vial, the inside of which was coated in a dark, nearly black substance, that appeared to be pulsing slightly. He also took out the carcass of some small vermin, placing that within the cage first. Then he closed the door and stepped to the instruments on the cage. With apparent practiced ease, he slid the vial into one of the instruments, which transferred the contents into the cage by vacuuming the substance out and dispensing it within, onto the carcass.
Almost immediately the carcass grew huge bands of that same blackened substance as the trolls watched uneasily.
"How'd you know to work all that?" Garsad asked.
"Quarantine machinery is similar across all aspects of Imperial culture, had to keep sample quarantined myself in a similar way," he answered, looking to the brownblood. "Who holds the key?"
"I do," Xrumon grunted, ambling over to lock the door. "It's basic, but we're working on improving the security."
"Would suggest a biometric lock coded to appropriate authority," Platar said.
Xrumon struggled not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I uh, already had that in mind. But good call, soldier boy. Really... looking forward to figuring out what the fuck your deal is."
Platar nodded. "Team cohesion is improved with time spent socializing, I agree."
"...You really do attract the oddest sorts, don't you, Xru-by?" Avanti remarked, amused.
Hey Corelo, do you think it’ll be worth it? All that work? Do you wish you could see what will happen?
(The w(o)rk t(o) build up this city? (O)r the w(o)rk t(o) re(o)utfit an entire (o)rganizati(o)n t(o), m(o)re (o)r less, pr(o)duce ships that d(o)n't pr(o)fit (o)ff (o)f suffering?)
(The p(o)tential expansi(o)n f(o)r my (o)rganizati(o)n makes it well w(o)rth it.)
(Already we have a number (o)f stakes in neighb(o)rh(o)(o)d (o)utreach pr(o)grams.)
(We have c(o)nvinced numer(o)us st(o)re (o)wners that pr(o)tecti(o)n with us is far m(o)re efficient than relying (o)n legislacerat(o)rs.)
(Making ships will give us even greater reach... even if they are n(o)t '(o)ur' ships specifically.)
(Having a hand in their design will give us insights, h(o)wever.)
(QPIN will n(o)t remain the (o)nly (o)rganizati(o)n capable (o)f spaceflight n(o)w.)
(I (o)nly regret that I may n(o)t see the wh(o)le (o)f this all pay (o)ff. Y(o)u kn(o)w h(o)w life is.)
There was a period of time during The Cafe that had anonymous caste trolls being, uh, very open about what their castes actually were.
It’s nice to see anonymous trolls going to lengths to hide their castes again.
Corelo refuses to divulge it because it goes against the core tenants of what his gang believes in. There’s actually complicated rules about who can even be a doctor in the gang since being one would require knowing people’s castes in order to treat them properly.
Platar doesn’t want people complaining that he’s some “upstart lowblood” just making trouble, or on the flipside, a “violent highblood on a rampage.” His work demands ‘impartiality,’ unsullied by typical caste prejudices of what is right and what isn’t.
That’s not to say he doesn’t have his prejudices, but at least he can obfuscate where they originate from.
