"Meghanaaada?" You find yourself drawing out the name, voice pitching higher as though asking a question. Searching her face for some reaction like you're watching a rope bridge for signs of fraying. "Meghanada." You conclude, like putting your foot down. "Meghanada Dane."
Still nothing. ...seriously, what does she even want from you? Some kind of New Age Spirit Name bullshit? Are you supposed to pick a codename like this is the X-Men? Nathan got away with "Nathan", for fuck's sake. You're not going to start calling yourself Meghanada X, thanks.
Gloved fingers cup your chin and with a twitch of her wrist she tips your head back. Your first instinct is to splutter in protest, your second is to try and squirm right the hell away from the handsy lady, the third is to bite your fucking tongue and stop both because you can feel it. Feel the strength in her grip. She's applying the barest bit of pressure and it feels like your jaw's caught in an industrial vice. Like if she put more effort in than not at all she'd shatter your bones like so much spun sugar. She tilts you from side to side. Your skull limply flopping atop your spine as you're yanked up on tiptoes. Cold iron eyes search your face. Your features. Her gaze doesn't meet yours. You don't think she particularly cares.
With one gloved finger she pushes up the corner of your lip. Her hands are cold, even through the fabric, and you shiver. Gasp and gurgle wetly.
"Hng."
You can see Nathan over her shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. Trying to seem stoic and even as can be. Only half-succeeding because you can still see the flinch as she manhandles you, see the way he does his best to bury the awkward cringe. She touches her fingertip to the edge of your canines. Testing the sharpness. Feeling the piercing point. She makes a pensive, neutral noise and releases you. You back away, beating as hasty retreat out of easy grab range. Trying not to whine like an injured dog. She doesn't bother coming after you she just stands within the doorway instead; hands clasped behind her back, feet shoulder width apart. The ocean could crash against her and she'd just cut it in half with that pose. A mountain could fall from the sky and it'd shatter over that posture.
It's weird, a childhood of ambient stranger-danger ads and omnipresent police but you've never really been afraid of an adult. Anxious and uncomfortable and afraid of being punished sure. Jiayi and St. Augustine put you on edge and Dad was...was your dad. You might have mistrusted them or dismissed them or resented them but you were never afraid they'd hurt you. You were never afraid of them.
You think you're afraid of her.
"Technically speaking your full name is Sir Meghanada Dane of the Knights of St. George and you are to be afforded all titles and dues appropriate to your station." She's looking down at you, down her nose. Pinning you in place with the sheer force of her attention alone. This isn't shitty highschool superiority, this is as far removed from David as David is from the moon, you can feel the weight. Feel your skin itch and crawl. "Practically speaking the old rites have not been observed for quite some time, and the Knights no longer have any lands or dues to disperse. A shame: tradition gives meaning. Tradition gives structure. Without it we are nothing. Without it you are nothing."
You open your mouth to retort and she just...effortlessly talks over you. The words stilling, choking in the back of your throat.
"Your name no longer matters Meghanada Dane, you are no one. Your life no longer matters, it is not even your own. Debts to the Knights may only be settled through penitent service. Something so simple as your father's wealth will not suffice."
"M-my father?" Your voice shakes and cracks; puberty come again. Your hand rises to your throat. Black nails digging into tanned flesh as you swallow.
"Ichiban was, is, one of ours. The work he did drew upon our crucial resources. Your father assumed that it was a simple matter of payment," the corner of her mouth quirks up in the ghost of a smile, it has not a trace of warmth within it, "ah the Syndicate. Reducing everything to a function of gold and treasure. No, Mr. Dane I am afraid there is only one way to discharge your debt to us."
"Service?'
"Yes," she says. You fidget, wishing you could fade back into the mess of wires and screens. You were really asking. "You do as I say, you do as ordered, and we will keep you safe. From Pentex, from the Union, and from the many, many enemies young Mages incur. Disobey?"
She doesn't shrug but you can hear it in her words. Hear it in the way the question lingers. There's a tingling on your chest. A pins and needles stippling that deepens, sharpens, into heat. Skin shrinking. Swarmed with biting ants. You cry out, hand flying to your chest as the seal glows golden through the material of your shirt. And then just like that it stops. Cuts out. One moment lustrous light is spilling through your fingers and the next your shirt's cool. Your chest fine. You tug down your collar, panting as you peer for it. Searching wildly for the burns your body insists must be there.
"I claim the balance from your flesh and blood. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes ma-"
"Dame-Commander."
"Yes Dame-Commander." The words tumble from your lips. Ugly and ungainly, your tongue shaping clumsy syllables. Palm cradling your pectoral you bob your head. Inclining it in a stiff, robotic bow. Your brain churning. Thoughts a maelstrom stirred to intensity. It's hard to concentrate. The world is swaying beneath you.
"Good. Causer will be responsible for your care. You will be called when needed."
And then...she's gone. And you're alone, drenched in sweat and panting.
Nathan steps through the door to fill the empty space the Dame Commander's exit, as abrupt as her entrance, left. He starts to reach out to you. His fingers curl back into a fist with a creak of leather and he stops halfway, hand bobbing as he reconsiders. It falls to his side, slapping the right side of his coat.
"Sorry," he says. "She's kind of intense."
"
Yeah what was..." You paw at your chest, still trying to prove to yourself that the searing pain you felt over your heart was real. "What happened to me?"
"Thought she'd explain it herself but I guess she fobbed it off to me," Nathan says with a sigh. "You're stuck here, same as the rest of us. The Seal-" he taps his own chest "-is a leash. With a bomb in it. If any of us go off the reservation, Dame-Commander just..."
He snaps his fingers and makes an explosion noise. You dig your sharpened nails into your chest through your shirt, as if about to rip the tattoo off skin and all.
"
Why!?"
" 'cause we're all too dangerous to just let run free," he says. "Like she said. Penitent service. We play nice and we get protected instead of killed."
"All?" you repeat. You flash back to all the others. A preteen reading a book, a dolled-up girl your age just napping, a guy in a wheelchair and... okay the massive guy in the suit you can buy, but all the others? As dangerous as... as you? "What did they do?"
Nathan shakes his head. "Look, just, bit of advice. Stay in your own lane. Do what I say when I say so the Dame-Commander doesn't take both our heads off. Nobody wants to talk about why they're here, nobody wants to share and talk about their feelings. Good news is this place was built to house a fuck-of-a-lot more people than us so you'll have plenty of space to stay out of everyone's way. Got it?"
"Got it," you mumble.
"Alright," he says. "Now let's get to work."
***
He's right. The place - Asheklon, it's properly called - is stupidly huge to only be housing the nine of you. You get a room all to yourself, not that you have anything left to fill it with. Just you and the clothes on your back. At least it's nice enough. Old, dusty, a few cracks in the walls, but overall it feels like a nice hotel room. Almost familiar. You don't spend long making yourself at home.
Nathan puts you through your paces immediately. You're a knight now, as absurd as the prospect seems. A knight whose job description will soon involve killing things as bad as you or worse. Any hope you had of your extensive archery training being 'enough' fitness are immediately dashed as he orders you to do a hundred laps of the docks with ten pushups between each lap. And he counts your pushups for you, only when he thinks you've done a 'proper' one. Ten such laps in, he tells you to stop. You collapse face-down on the floor in a puddle of sweat and sigh in relief.
He comes up with a solution. You're all lopsided from archery only training your right arm. You have to keep going, but now your pushups have to be left-handed only. Your audience offers no sympathy.
"H-howcome..." you wheeze "
they aren't... working out?"
"One, because they aren't physical fighters. Two, because they've been a lot longer than you. And three, shut up and start running before I add ten more laps."
You have no way to tell the time without the sun or a clock, and your body is crying with so much pain that it could be a thousand years for all you know. But at last, mercifully, Nathan lets you get up. He doesn't help you up or anything, no, he watches you drag your own crippled self to your feet and just walks off expecting you to follow. You do, at the speed of a zombie.
He shows you to the dining area. It must have looked like a million dollars back in its prime, all wood panelling and leather upholstery and golden chandeliers. Now everything's covered in dust but for a few scattered tables and the counter, behind which a brassy humanoid figure stands. Nathan strides casually up to it so you follow, trying not to gawp at everything.
"I'll have the seafood platter with hollandaise sauce," he says.
"Excellent choice, sir!" the blank-faced robot's voice comes from speakers hidden beneath its jaw.
Nathan turns to you. "You can order whatever you want, place is stocked to outlast a nuclear war and feed about a hundred times more people. You should try the bison steak."
"... aren't bison endangered?" you ask, like that's really the most crucial question you could be asking at this point.
"Weren't when this place got built. And I think the one they have in the kitchens is immortal."
You just... very pointedly don't ask anything else and ask for chicken schnitzel instead.
"Excellent choice, sir!" the robot says with the exact same inflection. "Take a seat and your orders will be brought to you forthwith!"
You make to move away, but Nathan stops you with a gesture. You wait in silence, but not for long. In record time a pair of plates laden high with steaming, fresh food pop up on the counter through pneumatic tubes. The robot holds them up and just freezes, waiting patiently for some kind of signal. Nathan pries the plates free of its bronze grip and inclines his head towards one of the less-dusty tables.
"Waiter bot broke down," he says. "Self-serve only."
"Have a great day!"
"Shut up."
"Okie-dokie!"
You sit down with a groan of blissful relief, taking your weight off your tired limbs. You're in love with your food from the first bite. The exquisitely-prepared and sauced schnitzel makes your tongue positively tingle at the taste of all these flavours. And it's real food, after what they were feeding you in that underground prison. You downright scarf it down, sharpened predator's teeth slicing through the meat like butter. The whole thing's in your stomach in under a minute, not a sound out of you the whole time but chewing and swallowing. You feel almost satisfied. Like it was missing just one thing.
"Someone's hungry," Nathan remarks, eating some calimari. He's still got his gloves on.
"Yeah," you mumble, self-conscious all of a sudden.
"Well, you better enjoy it," he says. "Once I'm done you're going again."
You deflate.
***
There's a part of you that likes it. Nathan's a hideously cruel taskmaster, waking you up at what feels like five in the morning and working you to the bone the rest of the day. Reminds you of Corps Camp almost, at least the bit before you got sent home. Almost normal by comparison to everything else that's happened since you turned 18. Your mind can drift off, away from your aching and sweat-soaked body, and think about nothing in particular. You can shut out anything but your own painful, laboured breathing. The burn in your lungs and muscles.
The others rotate in and out, wandering around Ashkelon as it pleases them. Odette you mostly see moving from what must be her room to the dining room and back again. Thirteen tends to sprawl out on the couch, more reading his book than watching you suffer. You catch a few half-heard bits of conversation between St. Augustine and Nathan, you think it's about him pushing you too hard. Ma Jiayi offers his arm to you like a vertical bar at one point. It doesn't budge so much as a degree while you splutter and die trying to do fifty pull-ups. The giant man in the antiquated power armour tries giving you a few technique pointers before Nathan tells him to let you do it on your own. He just pats Nathan on the head with his other shovel-like hand.
"If... if I'm a mage..." you puff between gulps of water, sitting on the edge of the docks on a rare break. "When does... magic... come into it?"
"You're wasting break-time," Nathan says as if he hadn't even heard the question.
"Come
on!" you snap, throwing down your empty bottle. It bounces off the floor with a plastic 'thunk'. "I have no idea where I am and barely any idea what's going on! The least you can do is answer me!"
"If you're waiting for a Hogwarts class you're gonna be waiting a long time," Nathan says while he stretches, as if ignoring your outburst. "Anyone who thinks learning 'magic' is as easy as learning the right shit-Latin word and the right way to jerk off the air is an idiot or a Hermetic. But I'm repeating myself." He lets his arms drop, gloved hands resting in his lap. "Feel your left arm."
"O... kay?" You oblige, squeezing your left bicep. It- huh. You squeeze again, just to be sure. There's no way that can be right. Last you can remember it was soft. Now it feels like your archery arm.
"Every mage is a freak," Nathan says. "And we're the freaks of the freaks here. Learning 'magic' is learning what kind of freak you are." He indicates the rest of you - you took your shirt off so you wouldn't soak it in sweat in five minutes. "You just put on about half a kilo of muscle in four days. And you haven't missed a day yet so clearly you haven't pulled or torn anything despite my best efforts."
"So, what?" You make a helpless, questioning sort of gesture. "What does that mean to me?"
Nathan shrugs. "I'unno. I heard you were already supposed to know what your deal was."
Rakshama
"... got an inkling I guess," you mumble. Then, raising your voice a little. "But I still don't know what I'm supposed to do with that."
"That's fine. That's why you're coming on the cleanup mission on Sunday."
" 'Cleanup'?" you repeat. "What, um... what's being 'cleaned up' exactly?"
***
"Vampires."
Most of the gang's all here, assembled by the docks. You, in your Sunday best of a hoodie and jeans - hood self-consciously drawn up to hide your surgery-scarred and shaved head. Nathan, dressed like a complete asshole as is his custom, gloves and long coat but no shirt. Thirteen, dressed in the only thing you ever see him wearing - does he ever take it off? And Odette, dressed like she's going out in yet another set of clothes. You don't think she's worn the same thing twice the whole week you've been here. Your own clothes don't seem to sit right, but maybe that's because someone else has been buying them and throwing them into your room.
"Sabbat, to be precise," Ma Jiayi goes on. He stands in front of your little group, St. Augustine parked by his side in his wheelchair. "We've received word of of their presence growing in Auburn, under the guise of more gang violence. Intel is that they've been infiltrating the local immigrant population via the Islamic Community Centre. Building up their forces for an attack they can just blame on racial tensions."
And Australia's oldest Hindu temple is in Auburn, you think to yourself. That's a factoid absolutely nobody but yourself gives a shit about, so you keep it to yourself.
"Our job's simple. We go in, we find their nest, and clean them out. Kill every last one. Even simpler, it's sanctioned by both sides. There isn't a cop in the state that's going to respond to any reports of disturbances while we work."
You hesitantly raise your hand. You keep your eyes focused on Ma Jiayi and try to shut out what you know are some annoyed looks.
"Yes?" he asks mildly.
"I don't understand," you say hesitantly. "I... I only just got away from the Union. I thought they were at war with... people like us. Why are they helping?"
"Because the Knights of St. George aren't affiliated with either side of the Ascension War in any official capacity," he explains patiently. "No one knows we took you in, and no one's going to look into it unless we give them a reason. And nobody likes vampires. Trust me, this is like yardwork for us."
"Okay," you say, and let him get back to it.
"It's a simple mission, but that's no excuse to get careless," says Ma Jiayi. "Above all we're supposed to be making sure our new recruit can keep up and work with a team. I'll be coming along, but unless you call in something you can't handle I'm staying in the car."
You think to ask how a giant in antique power armour can blend in sitting in an old ute in a Sydney suburb, but you don't want to interrupt again so you stay quiet.
"Nathan, Dame-Commander made Meghanada your trainee so you're going."
"Suits me just fine."
"And Odette, Thirteen already had to go topside bringing Meghanada here in the first place so it's your turn for fieldwork."
Odette lets out a heavy, long-suffering sigh but she doesn't protest either. She just puts a hand on her hip and nods. "I'll need to get all my gear together."
Dr. St. Augustine leans over in his wheelchair and murmurs something to Jiayi. The bigger man leans down a little, and nods. He straightens. "Ten minutes to get anything you need and make ready to move out. Meghanada, we'll take care of your gear on-site. The rest of you, chop-chop."
He turns and strides away, his footfalls heavy and measured. St. Augustine's chair motors along beside him, only just keeping pace. Your two new 'teammates', and the kid in the gas mask, seem to just be milling around for now. It seems they aren't feeling the crunch too much. Fellow 'Knights' and you barely know the first thing about them. This might be your only chance for a while to actually talk to them. But what do you say? What
should you say? Should you just shut up and let them get a move on?
[ ] Talk to Nathan. If he's the one the Dame-Commander put in charge of you, you should probably get to know him better.
[ ] Talk to Odette. You have to admit, of all the people you've seen around here, she's the most normal. Familiar, almost. She hardly seems friendly but you can deal with that.
[ ] Talk to Thirteen. He's a mysterious kid, and just as much the one you have to thank for getting you away from that prison as Ichiban.
[ ] Ask about what their deal is. What? You're curious.
[ ] Ask about vampires. Anything you know via pop culture may or may not be woefully incorrect or outdated, and it's about to get very relevant.
[ ] Ask about their take on the whole Ascension War thing. What they think about the two sides, and this weird little group stuck in the middle.
