***
They keep Harry in a secret prison, one off the books. They want to interrogate him, pull out information about where I am. And, probably, set it up as a lure for when I come to rescue him like the fool I am. Considering he’s a Galactic Reporter, his capture is currently a closely held secret, one they don’t want getting out. He has protections in his role that they’re ignoring, for now.
Which is an advantage for us. Because the problem with secret bases is that you can only put so many people within and still keep it innocuous. Of course, teleportation pads and quick scramble units alleviate some of those issues, but it means on-site, the number of personnel—enemy combatants—are low.
Relatively speaking.
Then again, there’s also the additional problem of Levels. A single Legendary could make our lives truly miserable, which is where having an inside man—or in this case, Dragon—helps.
We’re two-thirds of the way to the prison, joining the air traffic that dominates the skies above Irvina, when we get the call.
“The meeting is called,” the Lady says. It’s a video call, though it is of little use since her background is shrouded in shadow, leaving only her breathtaking beauty to be seen. For a lady known for being the most secretive, she really does like to preen. “Our mutual friend will handle the Council. Now, about the information…”
“I set up a message drop. Don’t worry, it won’t ever not release. It comes through my specific skill set.” I’m not exactly certain I want to speak about my special Class in public. There’s not a lot of privacy in this ship. “It’ll arrive after the vote. So long as you do your part.”
“Very well. Everything you’ve asked for, so long as you complete your objectives, will be in play.” The Lady shares a small smile with me. It’s a cute smile, almost endearing, as if she’s a little child with a secret that she cannot wait to share. “You know, such confrontations, they’re rarely my thing.”
I open my hands sideways. “It’s always nice to change things up, isn’t it?”
As she smiles in approval, I flick my hands and dismiss the communications channel. I turn to Mikito, eyeing the swarm of fan club members around her. It’s a surprising number, but the three have been hard at work, pooling the locals—in terms of a solar system—into Irvina. Just over two and a half dozen individuals, most of them in the late Basic to mid-Advanced Class stages. No Master Classes though, not yet.
There are more fans, from what Mikito and Ali tell me. But being a new fan club, it’s still building. Most of those who follow her, at the level of adoration given like these guys, are at the lowest Levels. Give her another decade or two and if she continues winning, the numbers and Levels might be quite different.
That being said, I turn to the group and grin. “All right, you guys. When we get there, leave the big boys to us.”
A small gesture from Ali and a slew of notification windows appear for everyone. Among other things, the Lady has dropped off information about who exactly is on guard, as well as their backup plans and reinforcements. Using that information, we adjust our plans to remove some of those distractions, which is why we need my doppelgangers.
“Your job is dealing with the regular administrative and security personnel and intercepting any additional security that arrives. There are also at least two other prisoners. One of them, we want to free. If you can, get it out.”
I think of the information about the first prisoner. Political rather than criminal, the picture Ali displays is of a bright bug-like creature who’s another sapient from a nearby galaxy. He was reported disappeared by the powers-in-charge of his planet just over half a year ago. As a contender for planetary governorship, his disappearance meant that his opponent achieved reelection with minimal fuss.
Hopefully his release and escape will engender a level of gratitude that will help the fan club, as well as add to the chaos. Of course, I’m not betting on it, but it’s a nice side benefit.
“And the second?” a voice calls from the back of the crowd.
“Kill him.”
There is a susurration of whispered words at my blunt statement. But it’s cut off when Agr’us gets to the personnel file of the second prisoner.
His exclamation silences the craft. “That’s the Flayer of F’fauheok.”
“Impossible. I heard he was in the Rusanox sector.” Another voice, among the crowd.
“No, he’s dead,” Ruvuds says, his tone doubtful.
“You’re wrong. The Leontine Gris caught him, tore his arm off. But he escaped using the Skill Blast Off. After that, he had it regenerated—”
I listen to the hubbub, the conversations as they argue about one of the galaxy’s most notorious mass killers. The Flayer was a homicidal maniac crossed with the Joker and a Friday night horror flick, all squished into one insane package. The fact that he gained strength not only from the atrocities he committed, but from the fame he gained, drove him to higher stages of violence.
It was kind of worrying, the way the Council had him locked away. I’m sure there are a load of reasons why. Whole conspiracy theories, ready to be born out of that single fact. If it was any other time, I might even try spinning some of them myself. I’m sure Harry will, when we free him. But for now, the more important aspect is…
“Oy! I said kill him, not become his fan club.”
You would think I’d shot their dog, the way I spoke. They glare at me, though some are chagrined. It’s amusing, the way they interact with me. Mikito, they adore and listen to without thought. Me, I’m either considered her Lord or her abuser, depending on who you ask.
At the glares, I’m tempted to continue insulting them, just to get a rise. To pick a fight I know I can. It’s the part of me that isn’t particularly nice, which I try not to indulge. Too much.
Before things can devolve further, Mikito elbows me in the side and I force an apologetic grin around the wince.
“Best make another Hand, boy-o,” Ali reminds me as we dip out of the clouds nearby a new building.
My first Hand has already moved to stand by, readying himself to leave.
The first part of a plan is getting prepped right now. And as always, with any of my plans, it involves a healthy dose of violence.
***
Step one is dropping off the pair of doppelgangers. They know what I plan to do, mostly because I told the System—and Mikito—the breakout plan already. The doppelgangers know they’re headed off to die—which, by the way, elicited a few nasty looks from them to me. I’m beginning to wonder about the moral implications of all this, even though I know they’re not really real. Still, a part of me doesn’t feel great about this.
But needs must, and right now, the gates of hell have been thrown open and the hungry ghosts are coming. Better to get moving and to stay out of the water rather than concern myself if this is perfect.
As my last Hand walks away, blending into the crowd around the rooftop parking spot, the plane takes off again and we jet over to the prison. We can’t land too close, but there’s a useful training center in a nearby skyscraper—one geared toward newbies. They had been more than happy to receive a last-minute group booking to learn the art of survival scavenging.
“Welcome to Mioga Dosa Training Center.” The snake monster greeter slithers up to us, iridescent purple and green scales glistening as it hisses its greeting. Its lips widen as it arcs up, thin arms held open and wide. “If you’ll come this way, we have the virtual training room—”
“Thanks… Chad.” I blink as I read the Trainer’s name. I feel a weird sense of vertigo at the name before pushing it aside. “But we’ve got other plans. Just let us park the ship here for the moment and we’ll be out of your hair.”
Chad blinks—vertical eyelids snapping shut and open—as it takes in the team streaming out. Clad in full combat gear, weapons out, they head to their assigned locations, streaming to elevators, stairs, and in a few cases, shooting locations.