Making your way to the old Y-pattern that Tymur kept around for you,you tried to get yourself centered again. You were still rattled; the imbalance of your exchange starting to grind at your nerves. You knew how the death system worked. You knew Tymur's real name, that you could track him down with when you put it together with his admission on where he lived. Letting him know you were working with Sundowner now wasn't going to ballance the scales- that was bare courtesy. A declaration you were compromised, is all. If that fat fuck had access to your body-
Falling against the wall you stared out at the bunker base with a horrified realization. Sundowner had your body, in one of his private medical facilities, completely at his disposal. The man's perverse satisfaction with what he'd done to you already filled you with disapproval, and if he had more concrete ways to apply himself onto you? Well. Chuckling darkly, you pushed yourself up, trying to shake the baleful thoughts off. If he decided rape was included in the job perks, you wouldn't feel it. Cold comfort, but in Reaching Trail in the winter, warmth was forbidden.
Stripping off your uniform and pulling on a PT uniform to sleep in, you crawled into bed, the thick reindeer-fur duvet over woolen blankets enough to slowly get the bunk up to temperature. You still suppressed a shiver, though, as you slowly shut your eyes. The wind didn't howl, the snow didn't crunch, and everything was almost peaceful.
Then a rifle shot went off, and you were out of bed with an Ahti in your hand faster than you could blink. Slowly, as there refused to be any further sounds of battle, you safed the pistol and set it back down, crawling into the bed again. Naturally, it was ice-cold. With the gun next to your pillow- and some menu-digging to put [A Caovish Reminder] next to it, you finally felt comfortable enough to slowly drift off to sleep.
///
This was a dream, or a memory, or a ghost of something halfway between. You were on the beach in Florida with Mom and Dad again, building sand castles and talking to Uncle Taj and Aunt Bethula as Mom argued about how to properly make couscous or what the right way to serve goat was. Dad's brother had spent time in India- he never explained why- before coming down to Florida, and their beach house never failed to impress you. It was painted the color of the sea, with shells and splashes of color covering its concrete facades.
"Isabel!" your mother called, gesturing you towards the sandcastle. "Isabel!"
Smiling, you turned towards her, blonde hair whipping in the wind-
-no. You had black hair. You'd always had black hair, dark as a raven's wing, richer than the king's velvet, and long enough to trail behind you if you didn't bind it up. That didn't change the gold hanging from your head, as one hand slowly came around to grasp the ponytail there.
"Isabel?" Mama asked, standing up to start walking over to you. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing!" you said, putting on a wide smile- but this didn't work. Soon enough, Mama was next to you, worrying over your hair, your skin, your scars-
-no. You didn't have a scar there, on the oh-so-slightly rounded stomach that your bikini showed, that was a bayonet wound. It had been in Clanshead you'd got that, the end of the first winter, but that was then and this was now, and you were free from what you'd done there. You were out.
"You're being antisocial, is something the matter?" Papa asked, smiling through his mustache, soaked down over his mouth like an adorable walrus.
"Just, worried about school is all, you know," you deflected, looking over the sandcastle. It was a mighty thing, with tall towers, and three tiers of elevation, and a little islet keep that itched at your brain in a way you didn't like. It tickled at the back of your memory, like a chord on an acoustic guitar played in the back of a Dunne or bus as you tried to get packed and moved between regions, in those hectic early days. Thoughts of Tabasco came back to you then, that player port, and you tried to drive it out. This was the happy time, now- until you heard a shout from the water.
Turning, you threw off your shoulder-wrap without a care, sprinting like hell. The ocean was cold, briny, rimy, bitter with salt and hate, as you swam out to a person struggling to get in. They were hard to see, a great coat billowing up the same color as the sea and sky, blending into the horizon as they flailed.
"Kick off your boots!" you yelled, grabbing their hand and starting to pull.
As the coat fell away, the person you were towing in kept flailing, until boots went too. After that, they could almost keep themselves afloat, and soon enough they were dredged up into the beach.
No, you realized, as the girl there started panting, pushing black hair out of her eyes and gasping in the white shirt and brown pants of a Warden, you were there- or at least, Orr Melanie was. She looked like hell, too, your avatar's cheeks sunken in with desperation, eyes shadowed and teeth nearly pointed in a feral, fighting snarl.
"Thank… you…" she panted, gasping. "I'm… sorry… Isabel."
"You're not real," you muttered, as your father went down to tend her, helping drag the not-you, the un-you, back to the chairs, pressing a bottle of water into her hand. "You can't be real."
"Yes I can," Melanie said, smiling at you sardonically, taking careful sips of the water, brushing scale out of her luscious hair. "Who else would put Descarte before the horse like this?"
That pun was terrible, but a favorite when you needed to pull one on Mama's coworkers. "A horse walks into a bar, and says he'll have a drink," you muttered.
"The bartender asks if he's thirsty, and the horse says-"
"I think I am, before he vanishes."
Melanie smiled, pulling open her shirt to let the warm breeze take her. She wasn't wearing much under it, just a pair of dog tags and a useless little bra that didn't hide her- your- her assets one whit with how soaked it was. "You see, the joke is based on a saying by René Descartes, a mathematician and philosopher, best known for 'I think, therefore I am,'. I know the joke would make more sense if I lead with that, but it would put Descartes before the horse."
"Can you please put something on?" you asked, going back to get your shoulder wrap to drape around Melanie. "It's- not that- well-"
"Oh, you're uncomfortable with nudity, miss I-can-take-the-entire-dance-club-in-bed?" Melanie asked back, unbuckling her web belt and shucking off her sopping wet pants too.
"That was less taking them on, and more getting invited to a giant snuggle pile by three overlapping polycules, and why are you stripping more!?"
"I'm cold," Melanie said reasonably. "I don't want to be cold anymore. We could be in Therizó by now, sunning on the beach, drinking wine with Overwatch/Kingmaker, but you're not doing it."
"How? Tell me how, Melanie."
"Simple. We surrender. Leave. Let the rest of them die, just turn in our pistol and sword and never worry about it again."
You growled at that, kicking the bitch in front of you. "Never! Why would you even think of that! I refuse!"
"Because, Isabel, that's who I am. That's who they want me to be. Orr Melanie, the best fucking general in Caovia. Orr Melanie, a pet mercenary to a monster. 'Under the flag of the green-backed dollar; or the peso down Mexico-way'- that's how our organ salesman of a boss wants it. Orr Melanie, the woman who's stolen the hearts of half the girls and all the boys she's ever seen."
"That doesn't excuse you making such a travesty of me!"
"Does it? Are you sure? Isn't it addicting, being the Golden Dream of Caovia?"
"Nobody calls me that," you huffed.
"That you've ever heard. They'll hide it. Ghost, Thief, Bitch, Valkyrie, whatever little title soothes their savage hearts. You're still the one they believe in."
Shaking yourself, you grabbed another water, twisting it open and taking a long pull. "How do you know this, anyway?"
That earned a laugh, and a rustling around in whatever clothes Melanie still wore. As the wind picked up and a wind chime rustled, she smiled. "Because I art thou, and you know what comes next.
"Thou art I?" you guessed, turning to look at Melanie, and the barrel of an Ahti pressed up against your forehead. The smile on that bitch's face told you that the answer was correct- and then a gunshot sounded, and you were Isabel, and you were Melanie, and you were the world, and the world was foul.
And then you were awake in bed, holding your gun and your knife, both pointed at the door, where some kid with a coffee tray was shaking in fear for his life as a half-naked woman came out of bed swearing and threatening violence.
Oh right. That was you.
Better put the gun down and hope Tymur didn't mind your occasional moment of indiscretion.
///
The rest of the way to Stonecradle was going to be by bus, which was fortunate. Tymur's 'honor guard' was operating it, and he'd spent half an hour with Sulemain arguing over "maybe we should send a tank too just in case" and other such hypotheticals. Still, though, for all your dreaming last night, the minute things were going smoothly on the bus, you leaned up on Zairman's shoulder and passed right the fuck out.
Naturally this was a mistake, as you opened your eyes to a formless landscape.
"Kid, listen up," Sundowner's voice cracked. "It's been a year in training, and shit's gone a little sideways. Kayaba double crossed me, and because the motherfucker's done did that, he's gotten you by extension. This is a recording, and you'll get a transcript in the mail, but I've got a job for you. Affirm receipt."
"I affirm," you said, hearing the 'clunk' of a tape deck kicking over.
"Good to know you're not going to be a dumbass over this. Here's the deal: this death game was originally set to have a one year expiration date so I didn't have too many bedside casualties. That didn't happen, because Kayaba forgot to put in a goddamn 'off' switch. I can't get to Kayaba's body without burning some assets that don't grow on trees. Here's the gig: find Kayaba, kill Kayaba, steal his dog tags, throw them in the Great Warden Reservoir so they'll take longer to wash up than the death timer or something to that effect. If he overruns the death timer, that'll either boot his ass from the game, at which point my guys in Japan can bag and tag his ass; or it'll kill him, which is much less emotionally satisfying but also means he's dead and vengeance is had by all."
Would you like to know more? A small voice pulsed in your head, inquisitive.
"Am I getting paid for this?" you asked.
"If you're worried about money, don't be. Since your meat's still rotting despite my best work, we're moving to plan B. Once you get Kayaba, next upgrade up to five million dollars is considered paid off. You get a freebee, kid. Don't blow it all in one place- or do, considering we might need to pull your heart out. More importantly, once we know where he is, I can chain him to a desk to build a way to shorten this clusterfuck up- and I know you'll want to get out sooner rather than later."
"Is there a way to get emergency instructions?" you asked, pre-empting the System Assist.
"If shit goes sideways, there's two codes. Both of them only work if you're dead, so just blow your brains out or some shit. First one is 'In the days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade/ Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise', from Kipling. It's in the libraries of the game if you need a refresher. That lets you record up to five minutes of audio, which I'll get and reply to without too much concern; probably three days to turnaround time on it. Second one is 'Iron-- cold iron-- is the master of them all' and will summon me to come at my soonest convenience with a ten thousand character text message. If you use that for no good reason, I'm revoking your reward for this: it is an emergency signal,
and treat it as such. I'll assume you understand."
Would you like to know more? The System Assist asked.
No, thank you, you thought back, and just like that, you were back to wakefulness, your head slumped against Tymur's shoulder, one of his hands softly wrapped around yours.
///
Stonecradle was a modern town that had not taken the horrors of war well at all. Glassed-in observatories were riddled with bullet holes and sprays of shrapnel, while the cobblestones were rough under the wheels of the bus. That said, though, the town hall and a nearby manor house had been restored to their pre-war trim. Electric lights flickered joyfully, and the gas lamps of the Victory Point shone bright as a Warden flag flew from the yardarm. Next to it, though, was one more menacing- a black flag with a white mon center, over which a red hand-print was impressed. As you and Tymur aproachd, though, a second flag was run up below it- a rainbow of the seven primary colors displayed as diagonal bars, over which a golden circle of wheat was overlaid. The flag of the Folkvangr; and as you watched, a lance in black laid itself through the ring of wheat before being paired with wings. This wasn't just the brigade flag, this was your
personal flag.
"I suspect they'll know we're here now," Tymur said wryly, making his way to the table that had been pulled out of the hall under a small portable canvass roof, in case of snow. Following him, you blinked at the sign that read 'WEAPONS CHECK'.
"Evening sir, ma'am," the on-duty NCO said. "For the event, we have a strict 'no firearms allowed' policy, so please clear your weapons and entrust them to us."
Shrugging, you materialized and handed over your Ahti, while Tymur did the same. Moving into the victory point, you handed off your weather coat to the doorman, and grinned. The room was brightly lit by the gas lamps, a small stage had been set up in the corner for a quartet of some variety, and a dance card had even been set up. Wandering over through the small crowd of similarly well-dressed officers, Tymur grinned.
"Mind if I have the third and ninth dances?" he asked you, smirking at the card.
"What are they?" you asked, coming over.
"Third one is 'On the Hills of Manchuria' and it's a waltz, ninth is 'Kainé: Escape, and I
think we can tango that."
"Problem- I can't tango."
"Solution- I can, and the System Assist automatically gives you half your partner's Skill Bonus if you don't have the skill trained. You'll be fine."
Raising an eyebrow at Tymur, you sighed. "It's on your head if anything happens."
"Relax. It's a dance, not the end of the world."
No, your traitorous heart whispered,
just a dance with a boy you've caught the feelings for. What happened to being footloose and fancy-free?
It came down with a bad case of responsibility- you thought, before you got caught up in a warm embrace from behind.
"Melanie!" you heard someone say warmly, before you managed to turn yourself around to see Loup. Her mess dress was the one article of uniform she had that didn't have a techmaid slant to it, and her smile was infectious as you embraced her back.
"Loup! I didn't expect to see you here!"
Smiling, your friend held a finger up to her lips. "I got invited special- I need to talk to Cauthon at some point, though. He wants us to help him get an in-house techmaids unit set up. So, who's your date, Golden Valkyrie?"
"I brought Tymur. You?"
Chuckling a little, Loup grinned. "Hey, Mis!"
Coming over, a leggy blonde came up, making a small courtesy at you, before linking arms with Loup. "Captain Misericord, Thirty-Third Mechanized Infantry. It's a pleasure to meet you, General Orr."
"The pleasure is mine," you said, smiling, before a familiar sight caught the corner of your eye. Tall, gray hair, and- mother
fucker! "If you'll excuse me- we're about to have a moment."
Striding up to your group was Hooker, the bastard, and you could practically smell the four-pointed stars on his collar. "Hooker," you said, forcing a smile. "I didn't expect you to be here- what happened to Skolio?"
"We took it quite handily a few days ago, actually," Hooker said, smirking, "so it's General Hooker now."
"Congratulations," you said, the words ash in your mouth.
"Well, if you'll excuse me ladies," Hooker said, starting to wander off. "I've got to- Kirito?"
"The hell are you doing here you-" Kirito, who you'd only just now noticed, said, before switching into Japanese midway through the sentence and thoroughly making you lose the plot. With that handled, you backed away from your old foe, and smiled at the group you'd started to assemble.
"So, they've got finger food and drinks," you observed. "Grab something to munch on and a drink, and maybe reconvene in ten to fifteen?"
"Sounds good," Loup said, smiling. "Although I might find you later, just to talk about something."
"Alright, then. Let's have some fun tonight!" you said, earning a round of smiles bright enough to drive your worries and concerns away.
////
Votes, by Plan
On the Question of Kayaba
[] This is your best bet to get out of here: that makes it your most critical priority. That might mean telling your officers, though, which could be dangerous. He could be anyone, with his developer priviliges.
[] This is a very high priority, but it can't override common sense. Trying to winnow through several thousand people to find one fugative is impossible, especially when he's going to be actively fucking with you if he finds out about this.
[] Fuck Sundowner, you're not putting up with his bullsht. Bottom of the barrel priority work like this is what you have minions for- let the Commandos handle it.
Finger Food
[] Go get some, sample the delights, and maybe talk to the servers. You don't know the Band of the Red Hand, so it's time to fix that.
[] Get a little food and a drink, and socialize. You're one of two- well, three, really- generals here, and thus the belle of the ball. People will find you.
[] You're not hungry, you're twitchy- and a dance sounds about perfect, while they've managed to get a gramaphone pumping out what sounds like proto-EDM to you.
Talk to your Friends
[] Loup did have something she wanted to bring up- maybe get that out of the way now?
[] You think you see Argo over there, and she's always a good person to hit up for sensible conversation.
[] One of the railroad people is trying to wave you down, and the smile on their face suggests very good things to come.
(an: there might be more typos than usual, laptop update a go.)
