Deadline Page 34

  "If the end of the world isn't good cause, I don't know what is. We need to finish this before the end of tomorrow; otherwise Hadrian's the permanent ruler of Oakengard."

  Vagram growled, as if even the possibility of a new ruler was an affront.

  "We don't have a lot of time," urged Izzy.

  Dune nodded. "It's now or never."

  Vagram raised his chin in thought. He didn't inquire about the mechanics of Hadrian taking control of his city. As an NPC, perhaps he sensed the truth of it somehow. "You ride for Oakengard now?"

  Izzy snickered. "Walk is more the sum of it."

  The cleric looked over his gathering people. "And you agree to allow the catechists to restore Oakengard's glory when the usurper is dealt with?"

  "Funny you should put it like that." I displayed my active quest for him.

  Restore Oakengard's Glory

  Quest Type: Fepic

  Reward:

  Oakengard has been compromised by a Trojan and a fractured Trinity. Restore them to their old glory.

  "All this for no reward?" he asked skeptically.

  I offered my gloved hand. "The reward is you and Grimwart getting your home back."

  "The knights are alive?"

  The cleric was so shocked and stubborn he didn't take my hand. I boldly held it out and explained. "A hundred of them ride with me. Add your seventy to the mix and we have plenty of Oakengard residents on the side of good. The rest, I'm afraid, will be marching against us. The purple has already taken them."

  His eyes flitted to my waiting hand. "This genocide will not go unanswered. You have convinced me of your motives, but sharing a battlefield with the Black Hats necessitates bringing the wildkins into the negotiation."

  "You're square with them," said Dune. "They helped rescue you."

  "They did," conceded the cleric. "And that buys them a civil audience. If they want cooperation, they know what must be done."

  I slowly pulled my hand away and turned to the wild king. His brown eyes were already on his warden.

  "Absolutely not," stressed Izzy. "We're trying to work together here, guys, not tear everything apart."

  "There's no other way," assured Vagram. "Which of us is best suited to restore Oakengard than the only living member of the Trinity?"

  "He tried to usurp the Trinity," I said through gritted teeth.

  "And will be penitent before the White King. Bishop Tannen will see the light, as I have. In the face of this violet threat, we must all come together, no? Do you truly want the past forgiven, or do you offer only platitudes?"

  I took a heavy breath. When Izzy turned to me, I stared at my boot and kicked the muddy ground.

  "A time and place for all things," came the wild king's crisp voice. He towered over Izzy and smiled behind the mask. "Did thy words to my kin ring true, little one?"

  She swallowed. "Of course they did."

  "Then we choose 'tween freedom and death." Theoderic raised a finger and flicked it skyward. "Warden of the Blackwood, releasest thy prisoner."

  A deep growl grated the coast. "Let it be so."

  Various hooded figures lurked in the tall grasses behind the warden. One unassuming man stepped forward. With a sweep of his hand, the warden slipped the black hood away. Even though it was nighttime, Bishop Tannen blinked quickly against the sudden light and collapsed to the ground. Catechist priests hurried to his side.

  I swallowed hard and finally met Izzy's glower. She was pissed. The awkward moment was thankfully interrupted by a notification.

  Black Hat Alert:

  The Catechists have called off the war!

  Catechist Reputation +100

  Black Hat Alert:

  The Catechists have entered an alliance!

  Catechist Reputation +100

  Tad wandered back to the office, so exhausted even his crutch was tired. "It's still quiet," he reported.

  The CEO typed away with barely a nod. He was working through the night. That was okay. Tad had grown accustomed to the quirks of inspired genius. Christian was doing what he had to do.

  Tad carefully slid to the floor and rested his back against the cabinet beside Christian. The occasional helicopter droned in the distance, but it really was quiet otherwise. The dark sky seemed to wind down the tension. There hadn't been any progress with the standoff in the lobby. The security force had hunkered down, securing their position and hostages. The police had the building surrounded, their attempts at communication rebuffed.

  Tad relayed his day's work in snippets, knowing Christian was listening even if he didn't respond. "The elevators are still offline. I barricaded entry into this wing. There're just two stairwells leading in from the ground, and the main one's in the collapsed hallway. I secured the one in the back and triple-checked the doors. We're safe for a bit."

  They must have sat there an hour in the dead of night. Tad thought about his brother, Derek. About how well he'd been doing on his own. It was like the new city had given him all the confidence he needed. In fact, after the accident, it was Tad that had needed Derek more than the other way around. How was that for a plot twist?

  The programmer sighed, comforted by the thought. If he died here and now, without seeing Derek again, he'd still be confident of his brother's promising future. Maybe that's all family needed of each other.

  Tad did a double-take at the screen. A stairwell cam revealed a small group of soldiers ascending.

  "They're coming," said Tad.

  Christian paused to take in the scene. "That's the main stairwell. You said they wouldn't be able to get through."

  Tad forced himself up and leaned on his crutch. "Maybe."

  He hopped out of the office and toward the stairwell. With the hallway collapsed, he waited just around the corner wall. Within minutes, the sound of scraping debris came from the blocked door.

  "Get out of here!" Tad yelled.

  The sounds paused for a few seconds before resuming even louder as the soldiers redoubled their effort. Tad raised Abbie's pistol.

  "I'm serious!"

  They kept working at the door. A piece of the collapsed ceiling bumped in tempo with the pounding. It was only a matter of time.

  Tad held his breath, steadied his hand at the drywall partition separating him and the soldiers, and pulled the trigger. The bullet popped into the wall. He froze, startled by the sound, and waited. Silence. No more digging, no more hammering. Tad scanned the hall for signs of movement.

  A line of automatic fire ripped through the wall. Tad dove to the carpet. The air whistled over his head. Bullets bit into desks and cubicle walls. Tad covered his head as several more strafes tore through the debris. He aimed his weapon blindly, returned fire, and crawled away.

  Between the reports in the dev studio, Tad heard a chorus of gunfire in the distance. The police, possibly spurned into action by the battle above, had joined the fray. The operatives behind the wall cursed. Next thing Talon knew, he was cowering on the floor completely alone, the only gunfire coming from forty floors below. After the deafening experience up close, the battle downstairs seemed muted and unimportant, like a TV in the neighboring apartment.

  Tad scrambled to his crutch and hurried back to the office.

  "Nice job," remarked Christian.

  "I didn't do anything. I panicked."

  "Whatever you did, it worked. The operatives retreated downstairs to fortify the lobby."

  Tad plopped down at the video feeds. SWAT team vans had advanced across the plaza. The police had attempted an incursion but were already pulling away with several wounded officers.

  "It's not gonna be that easy," said Christian. "InLink sent professionals."

  Tad trembled as the adrenaline wore off. He patted himself down looking for bullet holes, relieved not to find any. He was fine, but how long would that last?

  2030 Up Your Arsenal

  Ten knights marched down the hall, steel plate shiny and unmarred from battle, tunics freshly inked with bright viole
t. Hadrian's keepers didn't waste any time turning the fresh recruits. As they disappeared around the corner, Crux peeked back through the doorway.

  "That's the last of them."

  The six companions were hunched in some kind of white room with clean lines and plain benches. It reminded Kyle of the intake room in the Pantheon where he'd first spawned into the afterlife. Perhaps, once Haven officially launched, the room would welcome the first of the NPC fortress' player residents. Perhaps those unlucky players would find themselves in an apocalyptic nightmare scenario, being hunted and assimilated by an unthinking army.

  "Okay then," said the brewmaster, tapping Harroway's blue key in his fingers. "Let's get this over with."

  They emerged from the room situated near the entrance of the Inner Hall. This was uncharted territory for them, meant only for the saints and other Oakengard leadership. It had been wise of Loras to place the recruiting factory here. The Inner Hall was well guarded at all hours of the day. Even Crux hadn't been able to explore this area yet.

  Which made it all the more puzzling that the keepers weren't watching it now. Kyle was getting the sinking feeling that they were walking into a trap.

  After two more turns, Crux walked ahead, but Kyle stopped at an ornate door. The wood was lacquered with a royal blue pigment rich with sparkles. A bejeweled red heart adorned the nameplate. "I guess this is it," he said before taking a heavy breath. He slipped the blue key into the lock.

  It got stuck after a quarter twist.

  "Son of a B."

  Lash converged on him as he put his shoulder into it. The door wiggled in the stone frame a bit, but it was still stuck, as if something was blocking it from the other side.

  "What are you doing?" asked Glinda as the others caught up.

  Kyle took three steps away from the door. "Just giving it a little nudge." He charged and planted his shoulder by the doorknob.

  Glinda threw her hands up. "No!"

  The door flew open and Kyle fell forward. He tried to throw his feet under his weight, but they got caught on a lavish red carpet. He tumbled head over heels and came to a rest on his back. The brewmaster winced and massaged his neck, blinking at the chandeliered ceiling.

  Four scantily dressed women pursed painted lips and ogled him.

  "Oh, poorest sir, art thou all right?"

  "Goodness, that was a fall!"

  "We must check for bruising!"

  Kyle sat upright as hands pawed him from all sides. He took in the room, astounded to see a few other ladies rising from fanciful pillow beds.

  "What do you think you're doing?" accused Glinda as the party pushed in.

  "What?" asked the brewmaster.

  "We're supposed to stay out of sight, and you just barged into the middle of Hadrian's harem."

  "This isn't—" Kyle furrowed his brow and turned to the woman cradling him with her bosom. She nodded emphatically. He pushed to his feet. "It's not my fault. It was Harroway's key. Blue key, blue door. What could go wrong?"

  Glinda sighed impatiently. "The quest says to go to the training facility, not the... love facility."

  The women giggled. Kyle blinked. "You guys actually read the quest text? I didn't think anybody did that."

  Conan nodded. "Me neither."

  The good witch glared at him. "I suppose I'd expect that from you blockheads. Isn't that right, Lash?"

  The white knight offered a meek shrug. "Um, I mean, it's sort of understandable. Pound stuff, get paid."

  Glinda huffed and crossed her arms. "I can't believe I'm stranded in Oakengard with all of you."

  Rather than take sides, Hex quietly backed out of the love facility to check where Crux had gone off to.

  Kyle frowned and took in all the beautiful ladies. "Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that every single one of you is intimate with Hadrian?"

  A woman with gold-painted breasts nodded. "He's the ranking god emperor."

  "But he's awfully mean," added a woman with smudged lipstick. "He hasn't let Gloria up for hours."

  "It's not so bad," called Gloria, voice muffled by the pillow she was lying face down on. Her arms and legs were handcuffed to the bedposts.

  Kyle worked his jaw. "I mean... that's just... wrong on so many levels." He produced a vial of corrosive and broke the designer shackles.

  A chubby girl squeezed the brewmaster tight. "That's real nice of ya, mister."

  "I guess," said Gloria, not shy about her disappointment.

  The hugging girl's lashes fluttered. "Makes a girl wonder if a man as big and strong as yerself can take over for the god emperor."

  Kyle rubbed his chin. "Now that you mention it, I have always wanted a harem."

  "Kyle!" snapped Lash, stomping forward. "We don't have time for this!"

  "What? They're damsels in distress."

  Gold Boobs nodded. "Soooo distressed."

  The girls crowded around him. "Tell us about yourself." "Where are you from?" "Do you like butt stuff?"

  "Whoa," he said. "Slow down. I'll address all your questions. I'm one of the leaders of the Black Hats."

  "Ooh," they said.

  He passed out flyers for the Last Stand. "I'm a bartender, actually. And for you ladies, I'll give you two-for-one pints."

  Lash growled at him.

  "Right," he chimed. "Free, of course. I'll buy your drinks. And I do like butt stuff."

  The women cooed and crowed. "So generous of you!" "A bartender?" "We should do shots!"

  Kyle nodded. "We totally should!" He flinched under Lash's glower and remembered his clean-and-sober-and-stupid challenge. "Is totally what I'd say if I wasn't on an important mission right now."

  One of the girls fluttered her lashes at Conan. "Ooh, what's your name?"

  Kyle shook his head aggressively. "He's just the help." He turned to the strapping barbarian. "Go put a shirt on."

  Crux returned to the doorway. "I found the training facility. It—" He paused, eyes moving from lady to lady until finally stopping at the blue key in the door. "Oh."

  Lash took Kyle's shoulder and ripped him free of his adoring fans. "We have more important matters to attend to."

  Arguable, thought Kyle, but he puffed his chest out. When he spoke, his voice was an octave deeper. "My subordinate is right, ladies. I must free the people of this city. Why don't you stay back while I handle this."

  Disappointed cries chased him to the door. "We'll find you!" they promised. Lash yanked the blue key from the keyhole as they pushed down the hallway. The harem girls winked and blew kisses after them and he sighed. Saving the world was tough work.

  Ahead was a door labeled "Training Facility." The blue key easily spun that latch open. Bravo Team and Kyle charged forward, weapons drawn.

  Aside from a large ring of metal that Kyle swore resembled a Stargate, the room was empty.

  "I can't believe it," muttered Lash. "The hardest part of this quest was pulling Kyle away from the naked ladies."

  Kyle snorted. "I can believe it."

  "It gets even harder to believe," said Crux as he examined the machine. "There's an off switch."

  The companions approached the control panel and there was indeed a switch to shut the machine down. It was attached to a glowing orb, no doubt its power source.

  Lash frowned. "It's already set to off."

  The thief winced. "Riddle me this: the fast travel's broken, the portal scroll is useless, and the quest is already complete, so what are we doing here?"

  The brewmaster grinned. "Well, some good did come out of it. After all, we found a—"

  "Don't say harem," snapped Lash.

  Kyle chewed his lip.

  "Crux is right. It's a bad sign that the machine's off."

  Conan grunted. "It means Hadrian already has his troops."

  "He's at full strength," said Hex.

  Glinda's eyes brightened. "On the plus side, we don't need to blow our cover by turning this off. We can still sneak off into the sunset."

  Kyle saw the wo
rry on their faces, the concern at the turn of events, but he didn't get it at all. To him, this was an opportunity. And the butt stuff was only part of it.

  They were here, in the heart of Oakengard and Hadrian's power. As long as that was the case, they had the upper hand.

  "Wait," he said, voice laced with confidence and bass even though there were no ladies to impress. "I'm getting the inkling of a plan..."

  2040 Boggle

  We slogged through the murky wetlands in the dark of night. The more distance we gained from the lake, the more we found ourselves in a bubbling bog of unnatural proportions. The air was heavy and the going was slow. Our boots were saturated with water and slick with moss. The muted colors of the land ranged from olive to forest to burnt orange. Strange, otherworldly, and far from heavenly. In truth, the whole place looked and smelled like Haven's toilet.

  I swatted a large bug attempting to take a bite from my sweaty cheek. "And they call this the Godsbog?" I scratched my head idly. "Are we sure we have the right bog?"

  Izzy warily hiked forward. Her lavender skin seemed to fare better against the pests, but she was every bit as morose as I was. "I don't like this. The errant folk by definition don't have a home, but this is a good place to find them. According to the texts, the Godsbog is holy to them."

  I cracked a smile. "You got that from hours of poring over tomes, huh?"

  "That's not all I got," she said defensively.

  "So lay it on me then. What are we dealing with here?"

  Izzy pressed her lips together and looked around. The wild king was marching behind us. Vagram was further out but within earshot. Our uneasy partners were making sure to stay apprised of developments. Izzy didn't attempt to hide her words from them.

  "The Godsbog isn't holy the way a church or temple is holy. The pagans don't architect places of worship so much as respect the land and pass down legends from generation to generation. Goblins and boggarts and kobolds and"—Izzy nodded to Theoderic—"wildkins don't always see eye to eye, but they all agree that the gods were born from this bog."