“My condolences for your recent losses,” she said, and the way she said it, I knew she meant all of it – Scale, Sebastian, B5, the base… and most importantly, my power in the region.
My reputation with her remained intact according to my UI, but there was still a chance it would change on a dime here. A part of Post surely considered me a rabid dog better served being put down than put up with. I also knew that taking an aggressive approach, as I had in the past, wouldn’t work. Madam Post had the upper hand now, despite my tier-up. She knew it. I knew it. And there was no use pretending otherwise. Undermining her in front of her men – those I hadn’t taken under my persuasive wing – wouldn’t quite be akin to signing my own death warrant, as an NPC could not perm a player. Still, I had grown used to the relative seclusion of the Doom Docks, and I had no intention of relinquishing my claim.
In the end, I chose the age-old policy that was said to be best, though I had rarely found that to be particularly true.
Honesty, I mean. I chose honesty, bitter and bare.
“Thank you, Madam,” I said, not meaning it and not trying to show her I meant it. Her smile dropped, and she leaned forward. For a frail old woman, I had to admit, she cut an imposing figure when she wanted to.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you beaten to a bloody pulp and scraped off the very ground you stand on.” Her yellow, filed teeth grated against one another with a sickening, chalky sound, and I realized for the first time how deeply she truly resented me.
I had brought Madam Post gold, tech from Luther, and recently, I had even helped to shore up some of her defenses by proxy, keeping Blackstrike, Atlas and their hired guns from stepping too close to the docks in their thirst for expansion.
Still, Post didn’t like the way I treated her in front of her subordinates. I understood that, and a part of me even regretted my previous disposition toward her. Too cocky. Too sure. Something to file away for later.
“I’ve got a job,” I said. I didn’t smile or try to be charming in any way. It didn’t work on Post at the best of times, and I didn’t think this was one of those. “A big job.”
Madam Post brought her eyebrows so close together they became one, a dark line of foreboding. For a minute there, I actually thought she might be the first NPC to attempt to perm a player.
Then, mercifully, she leaned back, and her next smile had a knowing quality to it, as if she missed our talks.
“I’m listening.”
I laid it out. All of it.
To her credit, despite the snickering of some of her goons and the outright gasping of others, the old bird didn’t so much as bat an eye during my address. From the initial provocation right up until the moment Leviathan would meet his grisly end at the end of my sharpened plan, she watched and listened, even nodded occasionally.
When I was finished, I expected a litany of questions regarding my plan, how I would bring it about, and when exactly I had lost my mind. Instead, she continued nodding long after I had finished.
When she finally found the voice to ask a question, it was, “What do I stand to gain in this?”
Its bluntness actually made me laugh. I wiped a tear from my exposed eye and took a moment to compose myself.
“I don’t see any gold in this,” Post clarified, ignoring my lapse. “I don’t see any tech, weapons, even influence that I could gain by assisting you in taking down… him.” She seemed to suppress a shiver at the mention, as if she feared he might come crashing through the dingy skylights above, bringing his dark vengeance with him. “Tell me, then. Tell me, Despot, why I should help you kill a god?”
“I have delivered on my promises,” I said, my voice serious. Grave, even. “Not always in the way you’d like, true, but I have delivered nonetheless. Imagine what Influence I will wield once I do the deed. Imagine what power. And if it is accomplished, imagine the power of my friends.”
“So long as you’re living.” Post drew it out, doubtful.
“That last part may well depend on you in the long term,” I said with a slight bow.
“Seems to me it depends on me in the short term as well.”
It wasn’t spoken as a threat, more as a private and somewhat worn joke. That didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
“There it is,” I said, shrugging. “My offer, plainly stated.”
“Nothing you ever state is plain,” Madam Post said with a tired chortle. “Know that, Despot.”
I smiled and accepted the good-natured barb. Why was it that my most pleasant interactions in-game seemed to come with NPCs? Said more about me than the world, I supposed.
“I assume you have something to show to gain my loyalty,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Something more than promises?”
“Yes and no,” I said. Now, the eyebrow went flat dangerously quickly, and I held up both hands, my fingers showing through the rips in my gloves. “What I meant to say is, you’ll know it soon. Very soon.”
“And what is ‘it’?” Madam Post asked.
“Peace,” I said. “Peace at the docks.”
“We have it,” she lied.
“You and I both know that peace extends as far as Blackstrike’s mood, and we both know that my men and I made up the better part of the buffer on that.”
“And now you are alone,” she said, believing she’d caught me.
Almost.
“Which is why I’m turning my mind to peace rather than war,” I said. “I plan to seek out Blackstrike once more, to offer him an alliance. One which, if we have an agreement, extends to you.”
“I am not afraid of some new—”
“A war with Blackstrike and Atlas will be costly for you,” I said. “If not lethal. Let me make peace, and let us prosper from it.”
“What do you have to offer them that I do not?”
“Information,” I said.
“The same information related to Leviathan’s supposed weakness you will not share with me?”
“The very same.” I smiled. That knowledge was like a loaded gun. Dangerous to put all faith into. More dangerous for anyone else to trigger. I’d need to divulge it to my player allies in time, of course.
Madam Post turned it over for a while.
“Very well, Despot,” Madam Post said, straightening in her chair. “But I expect to collect in the event your foolhardy plan works. I expect payment, and more than just the discarded junk your tinkerer can spare. I expect our friendship to be meaningful and close. Else it won’t just be the wolves in War Town and the hounds of justice in Titan City you’ll be contending with. It’ll be the crows as well.”
I swallowed, and Madam Post saw it.
Just like I wanted her to. Had to let power ebb sometimes, lest it get away from you completely. Like reading a tide.
“What do you need from me now?” she said.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Having made arrangements with Post, I returned to the ruin of my former base. It took some doing, and quite a bit of arguing with NPCs who were far lower in IQ than B5, Madam Post and possibly even Sebastian, but we finally managed to get Luther out of that damn hole.
Post had given me a small handful of goons to help me fish Luther out. They weren’t in my Sphere because I wanted to see which were most useful. As it turned out, most were completely useless, but one of them – something cliché like Diesel or Tank, a collection of muscle and brawn more than ingenuity – helped me wrap a cable around the sturdiest-looking pole that held up a leaning chain-link fence at the top of the hill. We threw it down into the chasm like a lasso and argued with Luther for the better part of an hour to put it on. I had to turn the screws of my Influence over him to get the damn thing cinched, but once we had him up, it seemed like all the recent goodwill I’d built up with the NPC had flown out the window.
“There!” I said, clapping the grumbling Luther on the back as he fought to get the cable off him. “You’ll get over it.”
“Like hell…” he trailed
off as he stalked up the hillside, ignoring the jibes Post’s men sent his way. A few of them peered down into the hole, intent on the wreckage that their former fellows now rested beneath. I half expected them to turn their restocked ire my way. Instead, most of them adopted a solemn disposition.
We hadn’t got halfway to the eastern edge of the field where it overlooked the man-made river when one of the men in the group called out a warning.
I turned back toward him, and then followed the direction of Diesel or Tank’s aggressive stare to the crest of the hill, where two figures loomed on the other side of the fence, in the shadows of one of the control towers.
I laid a hand on the arm of the bruiser beside me and pulled him back, ignoring his threatening stare.
“I’m on thin ice with your mistress as it is,” I told him. “Better you lot run along to momma. Take Luther. I’ll be along before the job gets going.”
“And if you’re not?” a greasy-haired and greasier-faced older woman asked. She had overalls on and bright orange hair.
“Then at least she’s got one less problem to deal with,” I said evenly. The woman shrugged, and the clutch of dock workers began to slide down the grassy hill to the concrete walkway beside the river.
“Luther,” I said, catching the still-grumbling inventor before he could join them. “I’m going to need you to get cracking on tech.”
He looked like he wanted to drive a stake through my heart. Not that I could blame him.
“New grenades, new gun, and as many of those nice shock spears you can get together. We’re going to need them. And soon.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” he asked, red-faced. He pointed accusingly at the gaping hole in the middle of the hillside.
“Madam Post will see to it that you have everything you need,” I said.
“And what does the madam…” he drew it out condescendingly, ignoring the dark expressions of her underlings, “expect in return for her generosity?”
“Your sharing, Luther,” I said. “Everything I get, she gets.” And to his confused, searching stare: “I mean it. Things are changing around here. For the better.”
I said the last part for the benefit of Post’s ears among the group. My reputation had remained firmly at Neutral, not shifting up or down by a point during our last conversation. It would take her some time to trust me fully, but holding out on her at this stage of the game was a gamble I couldn’t afford. And the more of her men I had at my disposal and the better-equipped they were, the quicker our chances went from razor thin to slim.
I turned back toward the crest of the hill before Luther had started his descent. Atlas and Blackstrike loomed on the other side of the fence.
“Well met, gentlemen,” I said easily, sliding between a gap in the aluminum fence.
Atlas’s shadow fell over me, enveloping me completely. Blackstrike wasn’t much for appearances, I was beginning to learn. He stood beside the hulk with his arms crossed, looking me up and down.
“You look like shit,” he said.
I touched the broken edges of my mask and shrugged.
“Well.” I stretched my left hand out toward the hole in the hillside and shrugged. “Considering—”
“Who was it?” Atlas asked.
“Take a guess,” I said without humor.
“Let’s see,” Blackstrike mused, fingering the bottom of his chin. “Charred hillside, burned stones, gaping hole in the earth itself… oh, and not to mention—”
“The massive fireball we saw fall from the sky,” Atlas offered helpfully.
“That too,” Blackstrike said, raising his finger to accept the point.
“Clever,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be laughing, if I were you.”
“Does it look like we’re laughing?” Blackstrike asked, his tone taking on a menace it didn’t have before. I wondered what could have him so agitated, and then it dawned on me.
“You’re afraid,” I said, smiling. “I mean, I understand why. I’d actually be more worried for you if you weren’t afraid, but I suppose I didn’t take you two for the most perceptive.”
“What’s he getting at?” Atlas asked, turning to look at Blackstrike, who continued to watch me, his expression more readable than he seemed to think.
“He’s suggesting that we’re afraid of Meteora, or that we should be, on account of her visit to old Despot here being retaliation for Prism.”
“But Despot did kill Prism,” Atlas offered.
“And we were there,” Blackstrike countered.
“Astute observations, both of you,” I intoned. “And quite true.”
They didn’t seem overly impressed with me, and far less than pleased.
“So,” Atlas said, “what’s the plan?”
He was looking at me when he said it, but I had the impression he was speaking to his companion. I also had the impression that my life depended on the answer.
I tended to get those sorts of things right.
“Well,” Blackstrike started, “I don’t see what killing him will do for us.”
“Another good point,” I said.
“Might make us feel a bit better,” Atlas said.
“Right up until Meteora comes calling,” I pointed out. “Or any number of Leviathan’s other cronies. Maybe the big man himself.”
“You’re doing that thing,” Blackstrike said, speaking as if he knew me.
“What’s that?”
“That thing where you say something like it’s supposed to mean something more.”
“How do you know it doesn’t?”
“I think you’re bluffing,” he said. “I think you know you were lucky to get out of this one alive, and that we’re a bigger threat to you than Meteora or Leviathan. I think you know that the heroes in Titan City aren’t going to perm you openly because it would result in penalties none of them are willing to incur. I think you know we have unfinished business, and you believe your close call with one of Titan City’s finest is going to spook us into joining with you and forgetting our war on the docks. Forgetting our war on you. But you tell me if I’ve got that right.”
I was smiling by the time he finished. I even dipped a considered bow at the end, much to his chagrin.
“Right on most counts, but wrong on a couple that I think you’ll find pertinent.”
“Do tell.”
“For starters,” I said, “you two are marked men, now. Tell yourselves it was me who dealt the finishing blow. Convince yourselves it’s only me Leviathan wants to make an example of, but I’d guess you’re next. Or, if not next, then you’re occupying a space on Leviathan’s list, and I know for a fact he keeps them. Quite literally. You two aren’t going to get much farther, no matter which side of the water you stay on. Go across the bridge, and you’ll get a building dropped on you. Stay here, and any one of Leviathan’s contacts among the tier-one villains will do him the favor none of the devs – not even the AI – will acknowledge they owe him. Favors that pay well, and in real-world cash.”
If this were the real world, I’d guess Blackstrike’s face would have gone pale by now, no matter his complexion. As it stood, he tried to look unaffected and failed miserably. He started tapping his finger on his opposite forearm, and I was reminded of how quickly he could move and how lethally. It wouldn’t take much for him to kill me. A few well-placed strikes would do it, and all before Atlas would have a chance to lend his particular brand of violence to the proceedings.
“Secondly,” I said when it was clear that neither Atlas nor Blackstrike were in the mood to respond, “you’re assuming I’m looking to avoid the heroes of Titan City… just as you’re assuming it’s me who’s being hunted by them, and not the other way around.”
That line broke the tension, at least, though not quite in the way I had hoped. When he’d turned over what I’d said a few times, Blackstrike laughed so hard he had to brace his hands on his knees. Atlas laughed along with him, but his slowness led me to believe he wasn’t the sharpe
st tool in the shed in the real world, and lent more credence to the idea that the two probably spent time together out-of-game as well as in.
“Sorry,” Blackstrike said, not meaning it in the least. “Sorry.” He straightened. “Can you… can you repeat that?”
“I can see that you need me to clarify,” I said, smiling. I looped my hands behind my back and squared my shoulders, rocking up onto the balls of my feet, the picture of ease. “I’m going to kill Leviathan. I’m going to kill Meteora. I’m going to rock Titan City to its foundations, and I’m going to build an empire on the ashes. Or should I say, we are.”
I expected Blackstrike to double over this time, maybe even to laugh so hard he logged out to regain his composure. Maybe Atlas would join in this time.
Instead, the two exchanged a look. I read worry in it, as if they’d only just realized that they had crossed a madman.
“How?” Blackstrike asked.
I don’t think he expected an answer, but I told him anyway. Or, I told him all he needed to know.
“I know his weakness.”
“Leviathan doesn’t have a weakness,” Atlas was quick to say.
“Of course he does,” I argued. “We all do. Sure, it isn’t as simple as a color or a certain type of laser like real-world comics. Weaknesses in Titan Online are inherent in our strengths. It’s all a pendulum. Learn the intricacies of the superpower, deduce how to exploit it. In my experience, the stronger the power, the more glaring the weakness. That’s certainly true in ol’ Levi’s case.”
“Fine, then,” Blackstrike said, shaking his head even as he spoke. “I’ll bite. What is it? What is Leviathan’s weakness? How do you take down the most powerful hero Titan has ever seen, and as a tier five, no less?”
“As for the second question,” I said, “it won’t only be a tier five. It’ll also be two tier fours and, if I get my way, a secret weapon. That last part might take some convincing, but—”
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