The Daily Grind - Chapter 176 (Patreon)

I'm *probably* gonna take next week off from The Daily Grind.  Might be a short chapter.  But I just need a break.  Probably should have taken a break for Christmas!  Didn't have foresight on that!  Whoops!

_____

“Art is where what we survive survives.” -The Palace, Kavah Akbar-

_____

The last weekend of November had been, for as long as Alanna could remember, a long weekend.  Thanksgiving in her country was one of those holidays where it was by design perfectly placed to make schools throw up their hands and go ‘fine, you can have Friday off too, I guess!’  And it had always been welcome when she was in high school.

Mostly because she’d had a part time job to help take care of her younger sisters, and it was a couple days when almost everything was still open, but the rest of her friends were doing family stuff, so she could pick up shifts without feeling like she was missing anything.

After leaving high school, and almost losing touch with her friends as half of them went off to college while she went off to learn how to replace a radiator, the long weekend changed a bit.  She worked somewhere that actually did take Thanksgiving off.  And everyone she actually cared about had sort of drifted away from their families, or didn’t have access to them.

So it became a time when she could, guilt free, spend days with her friends just catching up and actually being friends.

And then life had happened.  A few years, a few fights, a little magic.  And all of a sudden, it hadn’t been much of a thing for her anymore.  The last year or two, it had just been another day, and Alanna had either been in the middle of fighting some weird monster, or just distracted with something more important.  Her work and her life were the same now, and her friends were a family that surrounded her constantly.  She didn’t need a special day for it.  Even though they’d had a fancy dinner anyway.

All of this was preamble to the fact that it was deeply ironic that she was, on Thanksgiving, in a high school.  Working.  Because the wireless cameras they had left up by the dungeon entrance had all been disabled one by one, and then Lua had called and reported something ratroach-shaped moving through the school.

“Radios on.”  Alanna said, checking they were sharing a frequency.  “Alex, Matt, Sarah, you’re group one.  Tyrone, with me, we’re group two.  Lua, you’re with us.”

Lua, who had let them into the lower level, added her own comment.  “Please be careful.”  She said. “There’s still staff in the building.”

“Okay.  We’ll sweep upstairs first.  You guys get the cafeteria and ground floor.”  Alanna directed.  “I really don’t want to fight the police today again, so try to look professional if anyone stops you, and keep your guns hidden, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!”  Sarah gave Alanna a dramatic sailor’s salute.

Alanna frowned at her friend.  “Hey, come on.  Be a little serious here.  This is our responsibility.”  She chided.  Not unfriendly, really, but Alanna was a *little* on edge.

After all, the whole problem was the result of the Order running experiments.

“Alanna, you are my best friend, and I love you.”  Sarah was best friends with at least six people. “But you put me on a hunting squad.  Me.  Meeeeee.”  Sarah pirouetted a little to show off her lithe form.  “Don’t get me wrong, this place is gross, and I’m here to help, but you shoulda picked someone else if you wanted a *professional* fighter.”

Tyrone leaned around Alanna, keeping his voice low like they were on a delve.  “I know I’m not around the Lair that much, but… do we even have professional fighters?  Seems kinda fucky for us, ya know?”

“We do not.”  Alanna said.  “That’s why you’re all here.  No one in the Order actually likes fighting, you’re just the most experienced people available.”

Matt cleared his throat and raised a hand with a cocky confidence.  “I like fighting.”  He informed her.

Alanna eyed the young man suspiciously.  Brown hair trimmed pretty short, big nose that looked like it’d been broken at least once, bomber jacket and boxers wraps on his hands.  “I believe you.”  She said, deciding not to add that she didn’t really believe that was the whole story, if he was an active Response member.

Whatever Response actually was, one thing they were for certain was ‘trying to be better than the police’.  And part of that was, they really just didn’t recruit people who actually *liked* fighting.

“So, how many ratroaches?”  Alex broke the awkward silence, asking Lua the question she’d missed in the briefing.  She also left out that she kinda liked the fighting.  Or at least, the excitement. “One?  Two? More?”

“I don’t know.”  Lua admitted.  “At least one.  I’ve seen it around, lurking.  And some of the small rats, too.”

Here was one thing the Order knew; if you left a dungeon alone long enough, it started to get creative.  And for the Akashic Sewer, ‘getting creative’ meant opening a new entrance somewhere, and firing a handful of monsters out into the school like organic bullets.

It had happened once, and the Order had mostly kept it from happening again.  But they needed to know more real facts about the process, so, under the most vigilant observation they could keep the public and in-use building, they let the dungeon sit.

Mostly because the last time, it had taken over a month, and Reed had figured the outburst would happen over winter break.  But this time, the dungeon moved fast.  Two weeks of inactivity, and it was spewing out creatures that were stalking the halls.

They’d noticed within minutes.  And now, Alanna was here with everyone she could grab, to deal with it.

“Okay.  Stay alert.  Let’s move.  These things aren’t exactly *subtle*, so as long as we sweep the building a couple times, we should get them all.  And then, we’re not doing this again until summer, and Reed can take it up with me if he complains.”  She said the last part without considering that there weren’t any actual Research members here to pass on that memo.

The two teams wished each other good luck, put on the random assortment of vision enhancing glasses they had, and pivoted to take different parts of the school.

Rubber safety strips on the stairs squeaked under Alanna’s boots as she climbed, wincing at the noise in the empty building.  There was a weird qualitative difference between the emptiness of Officium Mundi and the emptiness of a mundane building.  Here was a place that was empty because people were just temporarily not around.  No magic, no weirdness.  It was just a building.  But lacking all the life and context of its actual normal operations, it felt strangely tense.

The Office felt tense because it was never normal.  And it was full of hostile things that wanted to eat her.  Also, sometimes, cute things that you could make friends with. Or *ugly* things you could make friends with.  Alanna mentally bopped herself on the head as she remembered that the ratroaches were, or at least *could be* people.

“Hey.  Someone over there.”  Tyrone nudged her with an elbow, pointing across the railing and the gap that showed the ground floor to the other side of the school, where motion could be seen through one of the classroom windows.  “Maybe they’ve seen something.”

“Good call.”  Alanna said.  “Lua, you stay between us, okay?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”  The unfortunately battle hardened therapist softly mumbled.

The three of them moved to circle the upper walkway, Alanna trying to take smaller steps so the others could keep up.  She kept her eyes open as they passed by the big metal security doors that led into the depths of the school and the maze of classrooms that lived there.

Which was good, because it was why when the ratroach exploded out from around a corner, trying to drive a splintered chunk of a table leg into her neck, Alanna was more than ready.

She caught the creature’s arm.  One of them, anyway.  The other three - why did it have one more than normal? - came around in a roughly coherent wide swing, a trio of haymakers aimed for her exposed side.

Alanna just let them hit, counting on the fact that individual ratroaches really didn’t have that much muscle mass to keep her safe.  Well, that, and the thick leather of the coat she was wearing.

The awkwardly clenched fists thudded into her side, one hitting her in the side of the head, the other two sliding off her coat without even stinging.  This ratroach’s chitinous three fingered hands just weren’t suited for making fists with.  Alanna didn’t react to the strike that had hit, instead grabbing that arm, too, and glaring down at the distorted rodent face of the monster that was trying to kill her.

She didn’t really know what she was looking for.  Intelligence, maybe?  Some hint of thought beyond anger?  Or maybe whatever spark it was that powered a person; something they could nurture and grow into someone beyond a killing machine.

Alanna didn’t see anything but a slavering hate.  The ratroach hissing wetly, spraying drops of acidic spittle onto her coat, struggling to free the arms she’d pinned, snapping at her, kicking frantically.  All it wanted to do was hurt her.

By the time Alanna had assessed it, Tyrone had moved Lua back with an outstretched arm and was reaching for his weapon, but Alanna shook her head at him.  “I’ve got this.”  She said.

It was almost sad how badly put together the thing was.  And how, one on one, Alanna wasn’t even sure one of them *could* hurt her.  She wrenched its arms forward, and when the ratroach stumbled on its mismatched digitigrade legs, she spun it and wrapped an arm around its throat.  Then, she squeezed until chitin and bone popped and snapped, crushing its neck until its struggles stopped and she dropped the dead shell to the floor.

“Jesus.”  Tyrone muttered.  “That’s fucking terrifying.”

“They aren’t good independent hunters.”  Alanna shrugged.  “Don’t let them catch you by surprise, and if you need to, go for breaking arms or hitting their torso; their organs are fragile.  Not that scary.”

“That’s not what I meant.”  Tyrone said, quietly enough that only Lua heard him.

They grabbed the light body and hauled it out to the van in the parking lot.  Leaving this behind was just dangerous, both from a security perspective, and also just because letting something with acid blood lay dead on the floor of a high school sounded stupid.  Then, they jogged back, and continued the sweep.

The trio ran into one teacher, working late in a computer lab.  Lua greeted him by name, and he gave a nervous look at the two knights behind her.  Alanna had peeked at him with the affiliation glasses she was wearing, but he just read as a normal high school teacher.

“Don’t worry.”  Lua told him, with more confidence than she really felt.  “I’m fine, and they’re here to help.  But also… maybe a long lunch break?”  She cleared her throat dramatically.  “Off campus?”

The teacher nodded his shiny bald head.  “Yeeeeeah.”  He agreed.  “Yeah.  I could go for some salad.”  He said, grabbing his coat and vacating the building.

Just in time, too.  They ran into another ratroach just down the hall from his office, prowling around the corner of a row of lockers.  Tyrone hit it with a chair.

When they were just finishing their first circuit of the upstairs, the unmistakable noise of gunshots rang out from somewhere below.   Sharing a glance and a quick plan, Alanna left the other two to catch up, and bolted to join the others.

She arrived to an ongoing crisis, but not the one she’d expected.

On the concrete ramp leading down to the lower levels of the school, the band and drama rooms, there were two dead ratroaches.  Their greenish red blood splattered in the kind of rough sprays you got when you shot something and the bullet went right through.

Slightly past them, near the door to the boiler room where they’d first found this idiot dungeon’s portal, Alex and Matt stood with guns drawn pointed farther down the ramp, while Sarah stood farther up with her hands raised, saying something in a calming voice.

Probably trying to talk down the cop that was pointing a gun back at them.

Alanna slowed herself; going into this at a sprint would be an idiot move.  Instead, she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and walked into the scene like she owned the place.

“Officer Rourke.  Good to see you again.”  Alanna said calmly.

The gun pivoted to face her, and she mentally nudged her shield bracer to match the caliber of bullet.  The bracers, it turned out, could only actually protect against things they’d seen before. But it wasn’t hard to add 9mm bullets to the list for all of them.  “Hands in the air.”  The cop barked.

“No.”  Alanna said.  “Do you not remember us?”  She asked.  “I mean, we haven’t met personally.  But you know who we are.  We’ve talked before.”

The man stared at her, narrowed eyes flicking between Alanna and the others.  At the top of the ramp, Tyrone and Lua caught up, but stayed back as Alanna held a hand up.  The school’s resident police officer was sweating, forehead furrowed as his hands trembled on his gun.  “I don’t… what…”

“Lua.”  Alanna said softly, not taking her eyes off Rourke.  “You’re running Planner, right?”

“Of course.”  The counselor answered.  “Wh- oh no.  Oh, he’s been infected?”

“I think so.”  Alanna said.  She was confident, though.  She could feel, broadcast off the man in sick waves, the level of confusion and doubt he was feeling.  About himself, about reality.  He was *afraid*.  “Rourke!”  She put a command into her voice, something for him to latch onto.  “Your head’s been fucked with, and you know it!  My friend can help you, but you need to put the gun down.”

“No.  No no.  You’re not supposed to be here… the school is… the school…” The officer squeezed his eyes shut, bringing one hand up to massage his forehead.  “What’s happening to me?”  He asked. “I remember you!”  His voice came out as a hoarse yell.

Alanna stepped past Matt and Alex, pushing their raised weapons down.  “Sarah, back up please.”  She muttered, getting her friend out of the line of fire.  “Rourke, listen to me.  We can help; let us.  You know something’s wrong.  Just give me the gun.”

The officer’s eyes flashed with anger as she said that, but Alanna could tell he wasn’t *really* feeling it.  Her Empathy, granted by the dungeon below, let her push exactly far enough.  She knew almost precisely when to step forward and take the gun out of his grip, without him firing a shot.  “Lua!”  She called, and the therapist came running forward.

A quartet of geometric arms formed around her, and reached for the space around officer Rourke.  “Don’t be afraid.”  Lua said in a calming voice.  “We’ve got you.”

“Hm.  Yes.”  Planner’s pen scratch voice drifted through the hall.  “Multiple memory eaters.  Removed.  Removed.  Removed.”  The words punctuated by an arm tearing something out of the air around Rourke, ethereal splatters flaring across the walls before small bursts of red sparks filtered into Planner’s space.  “And something else.   Deeper.  The memories are ruined, but… there is a command here.  Something giving orders.  He has been compromised heavily.  Officer, do you consent to me attempting to remove the intruder?”

“Oh god, my head feels… ugh.”  Rourke doubled over.  “I can *think*.  And I want to fuckin’ puke.”

“Officer.”

“Rourke.  Let Planner do his job.”  Alanna urged.

“Please?”  Sarah asked from behind her friend.

“Fuck.”  The officer stabilized himself on the concrete block wall.  “Do it.  Before I have my mind changed again.”

Planner’s arms didn’t hesitate, darting into Rourke’s chest in wispy blue light motion.  The officer opened his mouth in a silent scream, dropping to his knees, before a second later, one arm pulled away half gone, trailing ghostly blood, and the other came out holding the immaterial concept of the shape of a bully.

Planner ripped it in half.  A fountain of red light pouring into their remaining arms.  “I must… go.  I hurt.”  Planner’s voice sounded strained in a way that Alanna had never heard before.  The infomorph just wasn’t a fighter, same as most of them.

“Ugh.”  Rourke pulled himself up.  “Okay.  Hi.”  He wheezed out.  “What… was that?”

“Infomorph.”  Alanna said.  “And that’s *bad*.  The dungeon was using you as a guard dog.  That is *fucking scary*.  We need to get a defense against this up, *now*.  Matt, Ty, can you get the bodies to the car? Sarah, telepad back, get a purple.  We need… I don’t even know.”  They moved to follow her orders, as if she knew what she was doing.

“It wanted me to hunt something.”  Rourke chimed in, wiping drool off the side of his mouth.  “Hi.  Again.  It was in my head.  Telling me I had to kill something.”  His head slid sideways, and his gaze locked on the boiler room door.  “Something in there, I think.  That’s where it was taking me.”  He whispered.

Alanna gave the man an appraising look.  “Rourke…” She started, trying to figure out what to say.  What should she even say, here?  Alanna was just bad at this sort of thing.  She knew, in her bones, that there was no point to having power if you weren’t going to use it to fix shit.  But she had such a hard time figuring out where to start.  She wasn’t like James, who just plowed head first into situations and sorted it out after.

Maybe she should be.  Maybe her boyfriend had a point.

“Rourke.”  Alanna said again.  “Want a job?”

“What?”

“Look, you’re obviously a bad cop.  You put the gun down instead of yelling and shooting us, and that’s *with* a good excuse.”  Alanna felt a lot of bitter regret sneak into her words.  “We need someone to watch this place.  You work here, you’ve got a cover.  Join us.  We’ll get you a shield against that *ever* happening to you again, and you can actually help keep people safe.”

She could have grinned if she wasn’t controlling her expression.  She felt it off him, so *obvious* when the magic let her see.  Alanna knew the moment she said it that he wanted, so badly, to say yes.

“No, no.”  The officer said instead.  “I can’t just… quit.”

“Oh, don’t quit.”  Alex added.  “Alanna means pretend to be a cop, but actually do something useful instead.  Maybe quit later.”  The young girl shrugged.  “Or, you know, stick around and get brainwashed again.”

“Alex, please.”  Lua sighed.

“I mean, she’s right.”  Alanna shrugged.  “Your call.”

Rourke had already decided, he just needed the excuse to say yes.  “Alright.”  The not-really-police-officer said.  “Yeah, alright.”  He glanced down at Alanna’s hand.  “Can I have my gun back?”

“Huh?  Oh.  Sure.”  She said, handing it over just as Sarah snapped back into existence at the top of the ramp, carrying a small glowing purple ball.  “Okay.  You ready for your life to get weird?”

“My life was weird before.”  Rourke said.  “I was *going* to call you guys anyway.  But I guess… something else called me first, huh?”

“Don’t be overdramatic.”  Alanna rolled her eyes.  “We already have someone who does that.”

Sarah slid to a stop in front of him.  “Okay!  Quick check!  Do you consent to sharing your mental space with a symbiotic entity?”

“Uh… what?”

“We’re going to make a living creature to live in your brain!”  Sarah cheerfully announced.  “You’ll be responsible for raising them to be a good person, if it comes to that.  It might not, though; they might stay dormant and then fade away.  But either way, your consent matters.”

“Oh.”  Rourke looked over at Lua, staring into the air around her.  “That’s what… that was?”  She nodded at him.  “Does it hurt?”

“Not at all.”  Lua told him, reassuringly.  “Planner is very polite.  They live in a lot of us, and you hardly notice unless you’re talking to them.  It’s… an interesting experience.  But one that I find has value.”  Lua nodded.  “And not just because they’re a protector.  But also, a companion.  Someone close to us all.  And if you’ll excuse me, I think I am going to go check on them.”  She nodded politely and excused herself.

“Okay.  Do it.”  Rourke said, making the decision that would change his life.

Sarah hopped from one foot to the other, excited energy bleeding into her motions, the fight and the pointed guns already forgotten as she pulled the orb up to her face, and whispered something into it that Alanna couldn’t hear.

And then, the orb collapsed into a streamer of glittering dust, the ribbon flowing from Sarah’s hand and into Rourke’s head.  She waited for all of it to move out of her grip and into the officer before she clapped her hands. “Done!” She announced.

“I don’t feel different.”  Rourke said.

“You won’t.”  Alanna said.  “Thats kind of the scary part.  But they’ll protect you. And you’ll see them, in your dreams, if you look.  Be kind.”  She ordered the man, who nodded solemnly at her.  “Now.  One last thing, before we do another sweep and get out of here.”  She turned to the boiler room door.  “What’s behind door number one?”

Alanna wasn’t stupid; she waited for Matt and Tyrone to get back, having dumped the other ratroach corpses and gotten *most* of the blood off their hands.  Sarah moved back, keeping an eye on their new potential recruit and carrying on a soft conversation with the man while Alanna moved to the door.  The boys pulled their own guns and flanked her, while Alex grabbed the handle, and waited for a nod to open it.

The metal door swung open heavily, but without a sound.  Alanna, in a crouch at the front of their group, was the first to see inside; a couple large water tanks, a nest of copper pipes, dust and a chemical smell.  The place was the same as when they’d first checked it out, albeit missing the hole in mathematical space that the dungeon used to use as a portal.

Except this time…

“Shit!”  Matt’s exclamation cut through the air, and he had his gun up before Alanna could stop him.  Alex, seeing him moving, yanked the door the rest of the way open and spun to cover the side with her own pistol.

Because inside, something was lurking.  Curled up under the boiler, an obviously inhuman shape lurked.

“Wait!”  Alanna snapped, and they both froze, fingers on triggers.

Because Alanna could feel what other people felt.  She’d been doing it all day; she didn’t ever really turn it off.  She’d tested the ratroaches, examined Rourke, even used it to keep an eye on her companions and friends.  All people were empathic, Alanna just turned it up to eleven.

Which meant she could feel what the wounded monster hiding in the boiler room felt.  And it wasn’t anger, or hate, or any of the normal expressions of madness the dungeon seeded its life with.

No, this one was *afraid*.

“Wait.”  Alanna said again.  “Everyone back.”  She waited for them to move, giving a reassuring nod to Matt’s questioning look.  “It’s fine.  I don’t think… look, the dungeon wanted this one dead, right?  I don’t think we start with shooting.”

The others moved back, but still kept her covered.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sarah put a hand on Rourke’s shoulder, keeping the tense officer from joining in, which Alanna appreciated.  He might be a new addition to their ranks, but for now… he was still an outsider.  She didn’t want him interfering.

Alanna stepped forward, and hesitantly crossed the threshold of the room, feeling the stuffy heat of the place.  And also catching the smell of blood.

“Hey there.”  She said quietly, kneeling down to look at the curled life form.

It was covered with black.  Fur, she thought at first, but no; a closer look showed it was feathers.  Uneven, patchy, almost dripping with some kind of slimy substance in places, but feathers.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”  Alanna said.  “Can you talk?”

The creature uncurled from its ball, slightly, and Alanna stifled a hiss.  Oversized and misplaced insectile eyes looked up at her from a broken face; an infected looking gash running down the feathered flesh and into one of the pained eyes.  A black beak, cracked on the side and hanging open, drew the eye to the rest of the face.  A handful of antenna or feelers sprayed out from the back of the creature’s head like hair blown in the wind; half of them cracked in half.

Its body was too thin, compressed in two places to something far too narrow; bones and exoskeleton clashing in the half-crow half-wasp form.  Alanna could see its legs, four of them, sticking out from under the boiler, and noted that all of them ended with wicked looking stingers.  Or at least, one of them did; the others used to, but those stingers had been shattered or snapped off.

The monster opened its mouth, and made a buzzing noise up at her that ended with a wet choking sound.  A mix between a warning, and a sob.

It didn’t take Alanna’s brain too long to figure out what she was looking at.

The dungeon had sent out its ratroaches and unleashed its human attack dog early.  Because it was hunting for something that had escaped it.

“Alex.  Go get me a blanket, and a bottle of water.  And armor; if I’m gonna carry this one out of here, I don’t want to get stabbed by accident.”  Alanna said calmly without turning her head.

“Really?”  Matt asked, incredulous.

“Don’t be a dick.”  Tyrone chastised him.  “You work with camracondas.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’m on it.”  Alex cut them off.  Then, before leaving, “You sure about this?”

Alanna snorted a laugh, drawing a flinch from the thing hiding under the boiler.  “What’s the point of being strong if you don’t help people?”  She asked them.

She’d known the answer all along.

_____

“Alright, what’re today’s problems?”  Reed asked the assembled members of Research.

Almost everyone was in today.  Eighteen of their twenty two human members, and all four of the new camracondas who had recently taken an interest in providing an alternate perspective.  Planner was asleep, still recovering from something terrible, and a couple of their human members were either sleeping in, working Response shifts, or just skipping the meeting.

It made for a crowded basement, so Reed had opted to hold this one in the briefing room.

“Not everything is us causing problems.”  Davis folded his arms over his suit jacket, looking profoundly out of place among the crowd of late twenties and early thirties majority of Research’s population.  “Sometimes we solve problems.”

“Alright, *fine*.”  Reed sighed, already having lost control of the meeting.  “Have we solved any problems this week?”

“Uh, yes, actually.”  A voice he didn’t hear much chimed in.  John was one of those people who had been critically important in just getting stuff done and keeping things organized, but never really had any splashy results like building weird totems or puzzling out what a magic item did.  So when he spoke up, Reed was instantly interested.

“What’ve you got for us?”  He asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, I think I’ve actually managed to put together enough of the Status Quo documents to give you an answer on them.”  John said, seeming to wither under the attention of the collected Research division.  The guy just didn’t like being in the spotlight, at all.

But you couldn’t just say something like that and not have everyone perk up.  “Really?”  Nikhail leaned over, butting between two of their younger ‘interns’.  Both of the high schoolers shoving him back with a generally playful attitude.  “What did you learn?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve been learning this whole time.  Or, I mean, cataloguing mostly.”  John admitted.  “But it’s more that I think I have a bigger picture view of them.  And an answer that we were looking for.”

“I admit, I’m curious too.  What *did* you find?”  Reed prompted.

“They’re artificial.”  John said.

“As in… fake? Because I think they…” Someone sounded *angry* about that one.

“No, no!”  John instantly got defensive, and Reed prepared to step in if needed to defuse the situation.  But he made a quick explanation, and everyone quieted as he talked.  “I think… I mean, the documents all make it *look* like… I don’t think they formed themselves.  You know?  I think that something else pushed them into forming.  Maybe even fabricated a history for them to believe.  Because none of the paperwork is actually that *old*.  It only goes back maybe ten years.  Even the references and stuff.  They literally could not have been older than that, and actually kept any files. And I’ve read *all of it*.”  Some real emotion aside from nervousness in that last sentence.  John had put in a lot of hours on this, and he was mad at the very concept of documentation by now.

“So, what did it?”  Reed asked.

“Well, they wouldn’t even know.”  John answered.  “And so we can’t learn it from them.  Could have been a dungeon.  Could have been something like Lloyd or the Old Gun.  Could have…”

“Lloyd?”  A tired woman’s voice asked.  Jessica, their resident biologist, knowledge earned the hard way and only supplemented with dungeon magic.  “Sorry, what?”

“Uh, the Last Line Of Defense?  James told us not to call it…”

Reed rubbed at his face.  “James has a vendetta against proper language use.  He is overruled, call it the Last Line if you have to.  Also, that’s a terrifying theory.  So, as far as you can tell, they were made to… kill dungeons?”

“Kill, monitor, exploit, they did a little of everything.  I think mostly, they were made to keep the northwest US as a low-chaos environment.”  John shrugged.  “Again, it’s hard to tell, and… uh… the ‘why’ is basically impossible with no one left to ask.  Even having cracked most of their code phrases, a lot of their paperwork is either redacted, or just doesn’t exist before a decade ago.  But yeah, that’s what I have to give you.  They were made by someone else.”

“Someone who might do it again.”  Reed muttered.  “Okay.  Talk to me after this.  We’ll take this to the council meeting tomorrow.  Anything else? You said you got most of their codes?”

“Yes.”  John nodded shortly.  “Already referred the relevant stuff to Recovery.  There were some addresses.”  He said it simply, neutrally.  Didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.  “Maybe they can find some of the missing people.”

Reed winced.  It had been so long since their founder’s families were kidnapped and mindwiped.  Or maybe just killed.  They’d kept plugging away at decoding Status Quo’s files, but it was hard for anyone to keep hope going after too long, especially as they learned more and more about the cruel and often lethal practices of the enemy organization.

“Okay.”  Reed sighed.  “What else?”

“Response wants us to try to find something that can work on addictions.”  Nikhail said.  “Like, removing them.  Obviously.  Maybe not obviously.”  He shrugged.  “Just something to keep an eye out for.”

One of the interns, a skinny kid with a shaggy haircut, looked around like he had something to say but wasn’t sure about it.  Reed refrained from rolling his eyes at how damn nervous all his people were, and called on him like he was a teacher at the head of a class. “Uh… is that a good idea?”

“Which part?”  Nik asked.  “Because being able to remove addiction would be valuable, just in general.”

“No, I mean, taking orders from Response.  Aren’t they kind of… I mean, they’re like the authority around here, right? Do we actually want to answer to them like that?”

Reed blinked, before making a realization.  “Oh!”  He said, snapping his fingers.  “No, it’s fine.  Response isn’t… they’re not ‘in charge’ or anything.  And they aren’t giving us an order, they’re asking for help. We’re actually all part of the same group, you know?  Now, when they do stuff like this, we *should* think critically before just shipping them a copied stockpile of magical guns or something.  But generally, they’re less authority and more social workers.  This is fine.”  He sighed.  “Okay, what next?”

Mars, one of their new engineering team, jumped in.  “I’ve got a *sort of* working hardware firewall for a skulljack.”  He said. “It doesn’t stop someone getting in if they ‘follow you back’, if that makes sense.  But it can filter out a lot of hostile actions.  The code for it is half-emerald, half-me, and it’s honestly a mess, but it *is* just a prototype.  Uh… I have a question, though?”

Those were impressive results already.  Reed inclined his head at the other guy.  “Yeah, what’s up?”  He asked.

“Well, if someone’s in a situation where someone could plug into them… what stops them from just removing the firewall?  Like, we’re not gonna weld them onto people, are we?”

Reed blinked.  He saw a number of other people having a similar reaction.  From the back of the hall, Chevoy, who had been half napping, pitched forward with her head in her hands.  “Oh god dammit!”  She yelled.

“Uh…” Reed couldn’t think of a good answer to that.  “Okay!  Good progress!  We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it!  And actually, we do need tofigure that out.  Holy shit, we’re all idiots.  Okay.  Okay!  I’ll make a note, and start talking to some people.  If anyone has ideas, bring them to Mars afterward!”  Reed resisted the urge to rub his head.  “Alright, what’s next, that’s not gonna make me feel stupid?”

“We got a small scale targetable orange totem working.  Like, under a foot this time.”  Arlo looked super smug about the development.  “*Almost* down to the size of the copier.  I figure we can get it within a week.  And then, we’re gonna absolutely *ruin* scarcity.”

“Good.”  Reed nodded.  “But also!  Don’t-“

Davis, Nik, Arlo, Pages-Of-Books, and John all finished his sentence at the same time.  “Don’t go too fast.”  They chorused.  “Yes, *dad*.”  Arlo added on, causing Reed to huff out an exasperated, embarrassed breath.

“Oh, speaking of the copier, Anesh left a note for me.”  Davis said.  “They tried copying orbs inside a wallet of holding.  Didn’t work.  Same thing with potions.  The running theory is that it can only copy one ‘layer’ of magic, but he said he’d get back to us.”  He cleared his throat.  “Not to ruin your totem thing.”  He added to Arlo.

“Oh, you…” Arlo made an expression halfway between a scowl and the face someone made when they ate an entire lemon.

“It should be fine.  Expanding the space, I don’t think will be a ‘layer’ the same way a wallet of holding is.”  Reed cut off the argument.   “If that’s even what the problem is.  I’ll go in this week and test with him.”

Someone from the back chimed in, voice clear and vibrant, like a singer.  “Has anyone ever tried brewing the copier coffee?”  Pablo asked.  “We drink a *lot* of weird coffee around here.  We should drink some of that.”

“I’ve already done the math.  A cup of copier coffee is worth about two hundred thousand dollars, given what we estimate the market rate for cancer orbs would be.  You wanna drink two hund-“

“I’ll manage with the coffee that makes me smarter, nevermind!”  Pablo cheerfully sank back into his chair.

Reed looked around.  A half dozen quiet chats had started.  No one had anything else big to say.  One day, he should probably create a format for these meetings, but for now…

“Alright, that’s all for today.  Everyone have a good week.  Let me know if you need anything, or have problems.  Remember; safe results are more important than blame, every time!”  He waited for them all to nod, before tucking his phone away and turning to head for the door.  “Now I’ve gotta go run tests on degradation rates of organic programming.  I’ll be downstairs if you need me.  Oh!  Mars, can you feed the shells?  You’ve got buggy code, right?”

“I’m so mad that you’re not wrong”

_____

Texture-Of-Barkdust woke up feeling miserable.

The camraconda uncoiled from the pile of blankets they shared with four others.  Typically, they slept whenever they wanted, and none of them were really shy about casual physical contact, so there was usually someone to curl up with in the sleeping space.  Right now, though, only Watcher-Of-Motion was here, pressed up against her side, occasionally twitching in his dream.  Texture-Of-Barkdust appreciated this one.  He, like all of her chosen nestmates, liked the quiet, liked their own private thoughts.  But his quiet commitment to the Order matched her own, and she liked that.

She tired not to hit him with her tail as she left.  And was mostly successful.

Camraconda accommodations took up about half of the fourth basement of the Order. The other half were human accommodations, but the truth was, there was an amount of overlap.  Camracondas were not small, and while their shared nests were often normal rooms turned into two-story ‘apartments’ with a ramp leading up to a constructed second floor, they could still be at home living with standard Terran furniture.

Mostly.

Chairs were hard.  But the Order kept buying beanbags, which Texture-Of-Barkdust also appreciated.

The point was, this basement was for people to live in.  And whether that meant living in a space built for you, or sharing a nest or bed that you just felt comfortable in even if it wasn’t *intended* that way, it was still home to a lot of them.

Texture-Of-Barkdust didn’t talk to people about it often, but she did feel a warmth at having a home.

Today, that warmth was mostly stuffed down by some kind of strange unpleasant tension in her chest.  Her eye felt like it was grinding as she irised it, her tongue was heavy in her mouth.  It was unpleasant.  But none of that changed that she had work to do, so the camraconda pressed forward.

One of the big benefits of living in the Lair was that there was a kitchen.  Texture-Of-Barkdust opted to take the elevator, as the remodel of the stairs into a ramp was not yet complete, and arrived on the ground floor still trying to get her headache to go away.  The kitchen, surely, would help.

She slithered her way through the hallway, passing a handful of other early risers who were also up at six AM.  She had learned, annoyingly, that both humans and camracondas did not like waking on a schedule.  This frustrated her immensely.

Because now, they were *free*.  Finally, after a crucible that had killed so many of her friends, their community was free.  Liberate, not just into the realm of Officium Mundi, but out onto a place called Earth, which stretched for hundreds of millions of square miles.  Enormous beyond belief, full of wonders and sensations to explore.

Who could possibly accept wasting their time frivolously, in a place like this?

Well, the answer was, many of her fellow camracondas.  And many more of the humans that had saved them.

It would be inaccurate to say that camracondas had a culture.  But *her* people had a culture.  Or at least, one they had started to build in their years of confinement.  They had small rituals, big ideas, and beautiful art.  And most of it, had simply not survived contact with the world.

Texture-Of-Barkdust would never, ever, blame anyone in the Order for this.  But it was a truth that her people had been… reset, almost.  Set back to square one, to figure out who they were all over again.  The context of reality was simply too much for what they’d derived on their own to stand up to.

And yet, how could one be angry, when the culture that had done this to you also served you hash browns?

Texture-Of-Barkdust settled herself onto a bench, and nodded to the kitchen staff who was around even at this early hour.  Marjorie, the oldest human woman Texture-Of-Barkdust had ever known, gave a winning grin to the green and blue serpent. “Hello dearie!”  She said.  “Your usual?”

And it was at that moment that Texture-Of-Barkdust realized she had forgotten her voice.  She’d tried to send the signal through the gifted skulljack, but got no purchase.  She had left the connector and the powerful small speakers back in her nest.

Twisting to make sure she wasn’t going mad, the camraconda confirmed she was voiceless.  A creeping dread started to seep into her as she twitched nervously. She couldn’t talk.  She was wasting time.  In an almost overwhelming panic, Texture-Of-Barkdust whipped her head back up to look at Marjorie with a fearful look, giving the most expressive hiss she could manage from her inadequate organic voice.

The older woman either didn’t notice, or ignored her fear entirely.  “Still waking up, huh?  Well!  Your usual?”  She asked.  Texture-Of-Barkdust froze, as if one of her people had Looked at her. Her usual.  Of course.  Because everyone here… remembered.  Knew each other.  Cared.  Yes.  Her usual, please.  She gave a bobbing nod.   “Alright dearie!  It’ll be a few minutes, Jeanne‘s helping me unload the food truck right now.”

Texture-Of-Barkdust settled in to wait for her food, patience being one of those things that was required to not waste further time.  You could, she had rapidly decided, take time to think, or even do nothing, but still have it be the most efficient use of time if you were waiting.  Waiting was interesting.  She’d waited for years, and not realized it was what she was doing.

At six fifteen AM, exactly when schedule, Karen sat down across from her and opened a pair of manilla folders on the table, sliding one over to Texture-Of-Barkdust.

“Good morning.”  Karen said, already sipping at a cup of coffee.  “I have our reports from yesterday here.  I’d like to get your opinion on how your people are reacting to having Authorities, but past that, today is business as usual.”  Karen paused as the older woman came over.  “Good morning, Marjorie.  You’re here early today.  My usual, please.”

“Of course, dearie.”  Marjorie gave a smile as she passed by.  “Already cooking.  You two are easy!”

“Mm.”  Karen made a neutral noise, while Texture-Of-Barkdust gave a low hum.  The older woman laughed at the scene while she hustled back to the kitchen to check on the potatoes.  “I am beginning to suspect that… are you alright?”  Karen’s face suddenly did that human thing where it changed expressions rapidly; lips pursing, eyebrows raising.  “You don’t look good.”

Texture-Of-Barkdust wanted to say that she felt fine.  But that would have been a transparent lie, and also, she had no voice.  So she gave an awkward hiss, trying to explain and mostly just drawing a more concerned look as the hiss ended in a wet bark of a cough.

Oh no.

Karen gave her another worried look, before standing and walking over to the kitchen doors, and calling out to the two women working inside.  “Please keep our breakfast warm; I need to take her to see Deb.”  And then, the stern faced woman came back to the table and folded her arms at the camraconda.  “Alright.  Are you able to stand?”  She asked.

Texture-Of-Barkdust was mildly offended.  Of course she could-

She fell off the bench.  Painfully.  Her vision blinked momentarially as she hit the ground and a spike of pain went through her head.

“Oh dear.”  Karen’s voice was still firm, but there was an undercurrent of compassion and concern to it that Texture-Of-Barkdust had never heard before.  That was a very human thing, she realized, that had infected her people’s culture.  But she didn’t mind.  She liked it.  She tried to hiss at her friend that she liked it, but couldn’t get her lungs to work right.

Then, Texture-Of-Barkdust found herself floating.  Well, not really floating. Karen had just picked her up, cradling her in both arms.  She wondered how strong Karen was; Texture-Of-Barkdust was aware that she weighed about two hundred pounds.  Wasn’t that a lot for a human to carry at a jog?  Maybe not.  She was having trouble thinking.

Her thoughts blurred.  The next thing she knew, she was laying on one of the comfortable beds in the medical section, listening as a pair of people teleported in.  Voices reached her, as if from underwater.

“I don’t know what happened.  She just collapsed.”  Karen was saying.

Deb’s voice answered. “Fuck.”  The young lady said. Texture-Of-Barkdust wanted to frown.  She was being very rude.  She worried that Deb would set a bad example for Frequency-Of-Sunlight.  The two of them were very publically together.  Another human thing.  But Frequency-Of-Sunlight was so happy all the time now, and it probably wasn’t just from the sex.  Maybe… maybe it wasn't just human.  Maybe it was something new. Something both of theirs.

Texture-Of-Barkdust raised her head as a human she didn’t recognize helped her turn so they could get a speaker cable plugged into her skulljack.  “Interspecies romance is foundational to a society that can sustain all of us.”  Were the first words she spoke as the speakers clicked on, the thought slipping out without her intending.

“Oh good.  She’s delirious.”  Karen said.

“How do you-“ The other human started to ask.

“Please trust me when I say that is not something she would normally say.”  Karen said.  “Ms. Marris, is this something you’re familiar with?”

“Interspecies romance?”  The veterinary doctor asked, perking up before she realized what Karen actually meant.  “Or… uh… a camraconda being sick?”

Deb wheeled a cart of tools into the room, pulling a contactless thermometer off and running it over Texture-Of-Barkdust’s surface.  “We’ve never seen one of them get sick before.”  She said. “A hundred and twenty.  *Way* above camraconda baseline.  She’s got a fever.”

“How hot are they normally?”  Dr. Marris asked.

“One eight.”  Deb answered, pulling a stethoscope out and searching for the flattest spot on Texture-Of-Barkdust’s surface to listen to her breathing.  “Sunny’s basically a heating pad.”  She pressed the stethoscope down, going quiet as she listened.

“I am dying.”  Texture-Of-Barkdust said, in a moment of neutral lucidity.  “Oh.  No.”

“You’re not dying.”  Deb said automatically.

Amy moved her hands across the camraconda.  “No obvious signs of infected injuries, lesions, or any growths.  I… oh!  What are you feeling? I’m not used to being able to ask what patients are feeling.”

“Is she qualified to be here?”  Karen’s words were mean, but Texture-Of-Barkdust knew it came from a place of concern.

“None of us are.”  Deb snapped back.  “Barkdust, can you tell us what you’re feeling?”

The camraconda thought for a minute.  “Annoyed.”  She decided, trying to nod, and feeling her vision swim. “Aaaaahhhhh.”  The word came out strained from the speaker.  “My head throbs.  I roil inside.  Too hot.  I am too hot.”  Texture-Of-Barkdust rotated to meet their eyes.  “Know this.  I know this.  This is heat rot.  It kills us.  I am going to die.”  She stated, as matter of factly as she could.  But even through the digital medium of her speech, the words came out scared.

Deb stepped back.  “Oh.”  She said simply.  “You have the flu!”  She announced.  “I mean, unless this is something weird.  Those are just… flu symptoms.”  She looked at the others and motioned them out of the room.  The three humans retreating to the observation area to leave her to die in peace.  Alone.

“What if it is something arcane?”  Karen’s voice came through to her from far away.  “We need to help with that.”

“She’s already had the purple that reduces infection time.”  Deb said.  “If she’s seen this before, it was in that tower.  So of *course* she thinks it kills people.  But we can manage symptoms, and she should be fine.  I’ll prep an IV just in case, but regulating her temperature and keeping her hydrated to recover *should* be enough.”

“What about medication? Some kind of antibacterial, or Tylenol or something?”  Karen asked.

“Oh, we shouldn’t give her acetaminophen.”  Amy’s voice was a rapid answer.  “We don’t know what she *is*.  Not really.  It might just kill her.  It does to cats.  That would be awful.  Uh… did she say interspecies romance a minute ago?”

“Yes.”  Deb said flatly.  “Okay.  Karen, go find me a few other camracondas I can interview about this, but *don’t bring them in here* in case it’s contagious.  Amy, run up to the kitchen and get a bag of ice please.  Her temperature is high, but shouldn’t be lethal if we can get it down quickly.  And in the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Okay, but I’m just curious…”

“Camracondas are people.  They can date.”  Texture-Of-Barkdust could practically hear Deb rolling her eyes.  “And before you start asking me more uncomfortable questions, yes, they have primary sexual characteristics, and *yes*, they *are* exceptional lovers.  Or at least, mine is.  Now *get me some ice*.”

“Ah!  Yes!”  Amy squeaked, and footsteps receded into the Lair.

A minute later, Deb was back at her side, and Texture-Of-Barkdust looked up at her with a slitted eye, trying to not look at the painfully bright light.  “I am glad you are with my sister.”  She said.  “Do not let her be sad when I die.”

“Oh, you’re probably not gonna die.”  Deb said.  “Unless this is something really weird, it sounds like you’re describing a disease we know how to deal with.  But, if you can, tell me more about it, please?  And we’ll do our best to keep you alive.”

Texture-Of-Barkdust hissed.  Yes, being alive would be preferable.  She had a lot of work to do today.  She had to check on the new members of her people, and had a pair of counseling appointments with two members of Response, and she was going to be trying to learn piano with the new mechanical arms, and… yes.  Yes, it would be very inconvenient if she died.

Focused on getting as much work done as she could, Texture-Of-Barkdust started telling Deb everything she knew.  She was sure that she did a good job.  She knew quite a lot, and was very comprehensive.