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  Then he wondered if Pete was the one he should contact. Wasn't Talon more likely to hear out his concerns? He also seemed to know the community manager better.

  The plan was set then. Tad was already standing; he might as well go for a walk. He cleared his throat. "The mobile app isn't loading and my player ID is on my PC. I'll call from there. I could use the stretch."

  He was grateful they were too caught up to answer. Tad Lonnerman jerked from crutch to foot, blood tingling through his stiff leg.

  1650 Shining Force

  Lash held the cleaver with two hands as she backed away, making sure to keep her healer behind. The two shock troops in silver advanced cautiously, electrically powered hammers in hand.

  "Who are you guys?" she growled once more.

  "Clear the area," directed a deep voice. "No players allowed."

  "I will not clear the area. Identify yourselves!"

  Despite her jawing, she could feel the power dribbling off these knights. There were no identifiers above their heads, no level information, but they definitely weren't normal mobs either.

  Lash had faced titans. A two-hundred foot cyclops, a fearsome kraken. She'd butted heads with Bishop Tannen, and wasn't always on the right side of the fight with Talon. In none of those cases did Lash feel as overmatched as she did with these two simple troopers. Something was off here.

  The two strangers moved intentionally, prepared to strike but not rushing into hasty moves, not making the mistake of underestimating their foes. That meant they were powerful and smart.

  The man with the deep voice said, "They're gonna be trouble." He swiped at an invisible menu.

  "Step aside," ordered the other guard. "We're here to secure the prisoner." Like Lash, this was a woman in a man's world, clad in full plate and a helmet that obscured her gender. Like Lash, she was probably tougher than the men she'd faced.

  The white knight took a measured breath. "The prisoner's already secure."

  The woman's helmet cocked as she measured the hallway. "I can see that. We'll take over from here."

  "I can't allow you to move Hadrian anywhere. I won't."

  "You're a liability." The man stomped forward. "We're here to help."

  Lash continued to back away, keeping Glinda behind her, moving past the supposedly empty cell. She fought the urge to signal the thief with a knowing glare. Crux was a little green, not quite as in step with the rest of the group, but he was still Bravo Team, dammit.

  Not one for words, Conan dragged his double-bladed greataxe along the ground as he passed Glinda and took up position beside his party leader. Lash noted the confidence that never fled his face. It disappointed her. Conan was brave and boastful and a loyal fighter all in one, but he was either incapable of seeing or refusing to admit he was outmatched.

  Lash returned her helmet to her inventory, revealing her face to the intruders. She turned to the woman, a silent appeal to return the gesture of goodwill.

  It didn't happen.

  "It sounds like we're on the same team," assuaged the white knight. "Just tell me who you guys work for. We could watch the prisoner together."

  "That's not happening," snapped the man. "We can't trust you."

  Lash's face twisted in scorn. "And we can't trust you."

  "Inconsequential." Two more figures zoned down the stairs and into the hallway. More silver knights with electric hammers.

  Even Conan flinched this time. Still, he brandished a proud smile. "Let's take them now before there's ten of them," he urged.

  The logic wasn't flawed.

  "This is your last chance," urged the woman, calmly but with weight. "Black Hats don't have jurisdiction over the city jail. You need to clear out. Now."

  Lash pressed her lips together. She turned to Conan, then Glinda, and took a heavy breath. Her cleaver slacked in her glove, lowering from its defensive stance. The blade flipped upside down, a seeming gesture of peace, and planted into the stone floor.

  [Lash] cast Shield Wall

  "You're gonna need to make me."

  The four troopers stood resolutely for a moment before the woman raised a hammer. The other three followed suit. Lash watched with dismay as another figure zoned down the dungeon steps.

  "No, no, no," chided Saint Peter. The man in cream robes hurried to pull the silver knights back. "You are not here to engage with residents."

  Lash snickered and stood straighter, the yellow field of magic still buzzing between the two sides.

  "You said under any circumstances," replied the trooper with the deep voice.

  Peter sighed and approached the man who still held his hammer at the ready. The saint did a double-take into the empty cell at his back. Peter tugged the knight's shoulder. "You're about to be backstabbed, Ronald."

  Ronald spun his hammer to the cell. "What? I'll—"

  "Don't make me sorry I brought you along. Please back away from the cell."

  Ronald swallowed a reply and stepped away.

  Saint Peter cleared his throat and faced the dark cell. "Please come out—"

  "Peter," blurted out Lash, not wanting her trap announced for Hadrian to hear. "You mind filling us in on what's going on?"

  The saint traded glances between her and the cell before flashing recognition. "Yes, well, this is all meant to be helpful, but I'm afraid urgency and necessity have rushed us through proper introductions. Meet my Defenders."

  The two troopers in the back suddenly spun to the steps as yet another visitor entered. "VIP! VIP!" They lowered their hammers and stepped aside.

  Peter cleared his throat. "Please post upstairs," he said to the two in the rear. They zoned out. "Ronald, Steph, remain posted in the hallway." The silver knights nodded and took positions as the newcomer strolled past. "Fancy seeing you here," said Peter, stepping aside himself.

  Lash swallowed, studying the new makeup of the hallway guard and the recent arrival. She nodded and fell in line with the saint to allow the visitor to pass.

  Hadrian smirked in the darkness.

  The fools were pittering outside his cell, wondering what to do with him. They thought the blackness that surrounded him was blinding but, even without vision, he could see more than most. The spikes in the sim, he could sense them. They were part of him now. Or rather, Hadrian was part of the simulation. It wasn't a full merging—he didn't wish to lose himself, after all—but thanks to deconstructing the rogue Trojan created by his employer, his digital consciousness extended deeper hooks into game systems every day, like roots finding their way through fertile clay.

  The fall of the kraken was a clear blow to his power. Now he had to sit silent while that fool gallivanted around town with the dragonspear.

  Control. Hadrian forced air deep into his lungs. Anger was a crutch. A fallback to ignore blame, an easy way to lose your head. Fear wasn't the mind-killer, anger was. Rampant and unchecked, men became nothing more than spitting apes. Hadrian wouldn't resort to such weakness.

  The Whisperer closed his eyes and sensed outward. He couldn't see the goblins or raiders at the gates, but he had a general sense of their status. Slow, outskilled, outmatched—yet serving their purpose.

  The city was in a flurry, Lash and her cronies frustrated by inaction. But there was strange saintly activity, first in the Pantheon and spreading to the dungeon. Hadrian couldn't ascertain what these particular traffic spikes signified. Nor had he been able to decode the security protocols of the angel breathing over him.

  Hadrian chanced a peek at the blindfolded guardian with waiting swords. Decimus was the greatest threat to his freedom and his life. He had to keep working on the angel. That was why Hadrian had attracted him here. He'd allowed Haven's last angel just enough of a glimpse of hackery to activate and inspect, but not enough to claim justice. Now, in close quarters, Hadrian tested the angel's barriers.

  A full morning had gained him absolutely nothing.

  The noises in the hallway rose to the verge of combat. Hadrian chuckled. The fools would kill the
mselves long before they ever unified against him. But the strange signatures still concerned him. It was Peter's entrance that gave him some answers.

  But then the Whisperer's little dungeon abode welcomed another visitor. Someone strange and tainted. Hadrian hadn't had his hooks into the system long enough to be familiar with what he was seeing. He didn't know who this person was.

  One by one, the contingent in the hallway stepped aside as the visitor made their way to his door. The heavy bolt clicked, the crossbar was removed, and the door to the cell opened wide.

  Hadrian squinted against the pale light glittering off Lucifer's robe.

  1660 Dungeon Defenders

  Outstretched wings caught the up-current over the Forum. Four silver knights stood guard on the portico steps. If Lash hadn't apprised me of the situation, I'd probably be fighting for control of the position. For now, we flew right on by. The Defenders were an interesting development, but the sudden reappearance of Lucifer was at the forefront of my thoughts.

  Bandit descended over the slums and landed in the large jail yard against the city's north wall. I frowned at the sight of two more silver knights posted by the jailhouse door, helmets swiveled my way. That kind of attention was understandable considering my ride. I patted Bandit's neck, knowing her dragon form wouldn't last much longer.

  "Keep watch, will you?"

  I strode towards the menacing figures, intent on getting to the bottom of the situation. The troopers didn't raise their hammers, but they held them at the ready and puffed out their chests. I snickered and tightened my grip on the dragonspear, my stride toward them never wavering.

  "Talon," called Saint Peter from the side of the yard. "I've been waiting for you."

  I paused and eyed the knights. The saint was taking them off the hook. "How very diplomatic of you, Peter."

  "You know me." His brow furrowed. "You shouldn't be engaging the army. We have more pressing matters."

  "I'm here, aren't I?" I marched over to him. "Who are these keyboard warriors?"

  "These are my Defenders, Talon. Team members I trust in real life."

  "Well, you should teach them some manners. Bravo Team almost wiped the floor with them."

  Peter snorted under his breath. "I assure you, Talon, nothing is further from the truth."

  I answered with a scowl. Lash's warning had been on point. These Defenders oozed strength. What exactly had Peter cooked up? "I thought we agreed more developers aren't the solution. We just finished cutting out all the other saints—"

  "Larry won't happen again," asserted Peter. "The Defenders are reliable. We need human beings to ensure their personas don't get hijacked. My team of upgraded saints have unassailable reputations. They're unbeatable."

  "If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that..." I recalled the dragonspear to my inventory and scratched my neck in awkward silence. "Listen, just 'cause they're with you doesn't mean I trust them. The Black Hats can handle Hadrian and other gameside concerns."

  "We have every faith in you," the saint said patiently. "Consider the Defenders additional support. Despite the initial... confusion... they won't be a problem."

  "Damn, I should've said the nickel thing now. Can I say it twice? That'd be even more nickels."

  Saint Peter sighed. Even though he was a digital construct, he looked tired. It was something in his eyes. "I believe we're friends, Talon. Is that right?"

  I suddenly felt like an asshole and dropped the tough-guy act. "Of course, Peter. I don't know your team, but you're solid. All the way."

  He managed a slight smile and nod of thanks. "That's good to hear, because I believe in you as well. And, frankly, this was a long time coming." He paced the yard and spoke. "Beta tests are about learning and adapting. This trial period ends in three days, and we're resolved concerning our solution." He stroked his beard as he formulated exactly what to say. "If you love someone, set them free. Christian Everett understands the mantra well. Haven is his baby, yet he realizes the need to release it to the wild."

  "You've mentioned the satellites before."

  He nodded. "Yes, but there's more." He cleared his throat. "Our oversight of Haven has been far from stellar. Our attempts to patch and control have been met with greater chaos. Granted, we can't assume all the blame. We've been attacked from within and without. We're now facing sabotage. Our circumstances are dire. But throughout it all, one constant that has always worked to correct our mistakes has been you, Talon."

  "Not just me. The whole player community. NPCs and select mobs too."

  He smiled softly. "Some have been more instrumental than others. This was Lucy's stated purpose the entire time, yet we were blind to it until you opened our eyes. She tried to warn us but it took you." Peter stopped in the center of the yard and turned to me. "I've been working on something, Talon. Something to unite Haven under your banner. There are a lot of moving parts. Heavy recruitment, freeing the titans—out with the old, in with the new."

  My eyes widened. "What exactly are you talking about, Peter?"

  "The soulstones," he said firmly. "They're simply too powerful, too susceptible to player exploitation. It's best to rid the world of their influence completely."

  I opened my mouth to reply, froze, then pulled my head back. That, actually, didn't sound too bad an idea. "You can do that?"

  The saint placed his hand on my shoulder. "You can, Talon. You will. I was hoping to wrap this up before now, but that worm has turned. We'll need to rely on you to do it after Haven launches. Trust me, as Kyle would say, it'll be fepic."

  "Just rolls off the tongue," I said with a smile.

  This was crazy. It all sounded fairly mundane in regular conversation, but if Peter meant what he was saying, Kablammy was about to concede Haven to the players. The agency to live and die by our own choosing, to forge our own paths through the world—that was freedom, digital or otherwise. Fepic, indeed.

  "I was wrong about you," he said after some thought. "I thought you'd follow the assassin's path for sure, but instead you chose to be"—his eyes went to the tower in the distance and the shining statue of Magnus Dragonrider—"a hero."

  Peter waved me toward the jailhouse and we entered without a word from the Defenders. I didn't know what to say as we strolled down the halls, but I felt compelled to speak. At the end of the day, Saint Peter was doing the right thing.

  "You know, Peter, if Haven had wisdom scores, you'd be a natural 18."

  He pressed his lips together. "Your agility is 24, Talon."

  "I mean at level 1. It's just an expression." I chuckled. "You know, you taught me that the day I met you, in the white room. It was during my intake interview. You said Haven doesn't represent intelligence and wisdom with scores because that's prepackaged in the brain. If you're dumb enough to wipe your ass with poison ivy, a high number score won't help you."

  Saint Peter snorted. "I believe I was more eloquent than that. I said grab a poisoned rose with an ungloved hand."

  Never one to overdo a sappy sentiment, I shrugged and said, "I like my way better." I hopped down the steps into the dungeon.

  1670 InFAMOUS

  I marched down the hallway with Saint Peter, nodding at Lash and Conan and Glinda as I passed. Crux wasn't around, but I wondered how much help a pacifist thief could be anyway.

  Ahead, the door to Hadrian's cell was wide open. A figure in a black cloak hastily backed out of the room. Decimus spun to the doorway and raised a silver sword.

  "Lucifer, you are in violation of the terms of service. You will be expunged from Haven."

  Saint Peter's eyes widened. He waved a hand and Decimus lowered his blade and backed away, returning to his vigil of the prisoner. Lucifer gave the saint a slight bow before we entered the cell. Somehow, despite the deep shadow, the silver runes on his cloak sparkled.

  Hadrian sniggered. "You're gonna get yourself deleted one day."

  "I'll manage," returned Lucifer. His voice was collected and cool, at home in a place like this.
That was probably due to spending much of his life as an outcast.

  As much as I wanted to take charge of the situation, I deferred to Lucifer, like everyone else. Here was a player who'd sacrificed nearly everything—his soulstone, his gang of Fallen, his dragon. He'd willfully entered enemy territory and risked deletion to assist the cause.

  "I'm surprised you returned to the core city," muttered Hadrian, still cocksure. "Seems to be against everything you stand for."

  "I'm here for what I stand against." Lucifer cocked his head, shadowed eyes studying the Whisperer intently. "Isn't that, after all, what defines a devil?"

  "You read the bible too much."

  Lucifer dug into a pouch at his waist and produced a black book with tattered pages of gold-leaf. Whatever text labeled the cover had long worn away, but the book's identification remained as iconic as ever. "Guilty as charged."

  Hadrian snorted. "Seriously? That was supposed to be a joke."

  The devil shrugged as he pocketed the keepsake. "History is full of jokes, and history is full of lessons. Many are one in the same."

  "We're making new history here."

  "All the more reason to learn from our forebears. Whether the lesson is historical, anecdotal, or apocryphal, the wisdom remains pure."

  I considered telling my poison-ivy-wisdom-score joke, but decided against it.

  Lucifer welcomed me with a hand on my shoulder. "How's the sanctity of the wall?"

  "The goblin and bandit armies have been neutered," I said. "Some of the soldiers fight on, but they're no longer a threat to the city."

  He smiled, removed his hand, and stepped to Peter. His body language was more distant with the saint. "And the corporate headquarters?"

  Peter's beard pressed out as he pouted.