Location: Mayhem City, Wild Card Casino and Hotel
Vesper sat there, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her coffee cup as the conversation unfolded around her. She had expected something unsettling, but this? This was something else entirely.
Azar’s laughter rang through the room, carefree and bold, as she accepted the key card from Turner (Knight Four). There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, only confidence, and Vesper felt it settle heavily in her chest. It was like watching someone step into a role they were born for, while Vesper was still stuck, observing from the sidelines, unsure of her next move.
While him, his playful smile as he spoke to Azar only added to the frustration swirling inside Vesper. He was so comfortable, so natural in this dynamic. And Azar? Azar was just as at ease, almost as if she had been waiting for this moment, waiting for the opportunity to be seen by him, to be desired. And he desired her. There was no mistaking it.
But the remark Azar made, her casual suggestion that Vesper “take care of him” after breakfast, felt like a sharp jab. The words stung more than Vesper wanted to admit. Take care of him. It was so… detached, so easy. Azar had no qualms, no doubts about the situation, and Vesper hated that part of herself that wished she could feel the same.
Her fingers tightened around her cup, and she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. Was that what she was reduced to now? The one left behind, the one who wasn’t as free, as unburdened by the complexity of emotions. Azar had claimed her place in the game, while Vesper had hesitated, analyzed, calculated.
Was that what he wanted, anyway? Someone willing to let go and live in the moment, without hesitation, without thinking twice? Or was it something else—control, manipulation? It was hard to tell with him. He made everything feel both genuine and calculated at once.
A pang of jealousy—no, maybe it was frustration—twisted inside her as she watched the exchange between them. They were so at ease, like it was all part of the same plan. Azar was already playing the role, slipping into it without even thinking, and Vesper… Vesper was still stuck in her head, still calculating everything.
The laughter between them felt like a wall she couldn’t break through. Azar was free to move, free to enjoy herself, free to embrace whatever it was they were creating between them. Vesper, on the other hand, had no idea what she wanted anymore. She had been trained to think, to strategize, to control every aspect of herself and the situation around her. But now? It was all slipping through her fingers.
Why couldn’t she just… relax? Why couldn’t she just embrace this moment, whatever it was, without the weight of duty and responsibility hanging over her?
But the thought of being so unprotected, so exposed, made her skin crawl. She had always relied on control, on maintaining boundaries. This… this felt too dangerous, too unpredictable.
And yet, the nagging voice inside her was clear. Was that what she was afraid of? Losing control? Or was it something else—fear of finally giving in to her own desire?
Vesper took another sip of her coffee, her thoughts spinning in circles. What was she supposed to do now?
Suddenly he knelt down to her eye level. His presence was like an unspoken weight in the room, the intensity of his gaze sharpening every word he spoke. The moment stretched out, and Vesper felt a strange mix of vulnerability and tension as he studied her, trying to read her like an open book.
Eli Turner (Knight Four) “You come around, but you don’t want to ‘be’ with me,” he said, his tone steady, probing. “You don’t want me to ‘be’ with Azar, but you brought her to me.”
Vesper’s breath caught in her throat as the words sank in. The audacity of it hit her hard—he was observing her, and he wasn’t just reading her body language, he was dissecting her every thought, every action. There was something about the way he spoke, almost like he already knew the truth before it even left her mouth.
He’s right.
Vesper hadn’t even realized how much she was torn between these opposing forces—her desire to control the situation, her professional detachment, her instinct to hold on to boundaries—and the reality of her feelings toward him. She was conflicted, feeling like she was stuck between wanting to distance herself from him but also not wanting to see him with anyone else.
Why had she brought Azar to him in the first place?
The question gnawed at her. She had been so certain in the beginning that she was doing it for the mission, to get close to him, to see how he worked, what made him tick. But now, looking back, she wondered if part of her had wanted to keep him to herself, if part of her had been hoping for this moment, where the tension between them would finally come to a head.
Her lips pressed together as she struggled to answer him. She wanted to maintain control, to deflect, but something in his eyes made it feel impossible to lie. He had pierced through her defenses.
Is this what he wants? To make me admit it?
Vesper’s pulse quickened as she realized that his words weren’t just a simple observation—they were a challenge. A test. He wasn’t just interested in knowing what she was thinking; he wanted her to own it, to acknowledge the truth that she was trying so hard to keep buried.
And yet, even as the desire to control the conversation clawed at her, Vesper found herself vulnerable under his scrutiny. There was something deeply unsettling about the way he could strip away her walls, leaving her exposed. She hadn’t been prepared for this kind of emotional intensity, not from someone like him.
Her mind raced, trying to process the conflicting emotions she was feeling—frustration, attraction, and the gnawing fear of losing control.
Why does this feel so different?
Vesper had dealt with men who had tried to manipulate her, who had underestimated her. But he wasn’t like them. He didn’t need to manipulate her—he just understood her on a deeper level, in a way that made her feel both seen and vulnerable.
She swallowed, forcing her voice steady, though it trembled slightly. “You’re reading me wrong,” she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She wasn’t even sure if she believed them herself.
But Eli (Knight Four) didn’t back down. He just kept watching her, waiting for her to let go of her guard, to reveal what she truly felt. And that only made her more determined to hold on. But deep inside, Vesper knew—he was right. She was conflicted.
And it was a feeling she wasn’t used to.
He continued, “With Azar what I see is what I get. But with you? You didn't come here for me or you would have come alone or you would have joined Azar and I in bed. You came to me, to bring Azar to me. Was that a test? Were you testing me? Yourself?”
Vesper’s mind spun at his words, each syllable hitting her like a sharp jab. He wasn’t just speaking to her; he was peeling away the layers she had worked so hard to build, exposing the vulnerable parts of her she kept hidden—even from herself.
Was it a test? The question echoed in her mind.
Was it?
Vesper’s gaze flickered to him, studying his face for any sign of mockery or judgment, but instead, she found only calm assessment. He was scrutinizing her, but not in the way most would—his gaze wasn’t cold or calculating. It was… curious, almost as though he truly wanted to understand the reason behind her actions.
His words struck at something deep inside her, something she hadn’t allowed herself to consider. She had come here with a purpose, but why? She had told herself it was to keep things under control, to manage the situation, to gather information. But part of her wondered if there was something else, something more personal at play—something that made her feel… unsettled.
She had been drawn to him. She had been tempted by the idea of stepping outside the rigid boundaries she had set for herself. But was she ready to admit it? Had she really been testing him, or had she been testing herself?
Vesper’s pulse quickened. She had thought she could maintain a professional distance, that she could keep things under control, but in this moment, it felt like everything was unraveling. Testing him? Testing herself? The idea of allowing herself to be vulnerable, to feel something, was terrifying. She had always been so careful, so deliberate with her actions.
But then there was Azar, sitting across from them—confident, unafraid. Azar had no hesitation. Azar was free to embrace her desires, to act on them without concern for the consequences. And that freedom, that lack of restraint, made Vesper feel like she was missing something, like she was left behind, constantly weighing her decisions while Azar lived in the moment.
Vesper bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ground herself, but Mr. Smith’s words were still spinning in her head. Had it been a test? Or was it just fear?
She could feel his gaze on her, reading her, like he always did. It was almost as if he could see through her carefully constructed defenses. He didn’t seem to be demanding anything from her, but at the same time, the pressure he exerted was undeniable. He was forcing her to confront things she wasn’t ready to confront.
Her eyes flicked away from him, focusing on the table for a moment to collect her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but she could feel the tremor of uncertainty beneath the surface.
“I wasn’t testing you,” Vesper said, trying to keep the words clear, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “I was... observing. Trying to understand the situation. The dynamics between you and Azar... between us. I had to see for myself.”
It was only a half-truth. She wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore. Had she been testing him? Or had she been testing herself, wondering if she could let go, wondering what would happen if she stopped trying to control everything?
Was she scared? Of course she was. And maybe that was why she had acted the way she had. Bringing Azar in, holding herself at a distance—it was all part of the wall she had put up to protect herself from the unpredictability of what she was feeling.
But he wasn’t like other men. He didn’t play by the rules she had set. And that made him both dangerous and intriguing.
His words, though, had pushed her further than she was ready to go. He had cornered her in a way that left her with no easy escape. What now?
Vesper’s heart raced as the weight of his question pressed down on her. What if she didn’t know what she wanted?
Was that why she couldn’t let go? Was she scared of admitting it even to herself?
His calm gaze remained on her as if waiting for her to finally admit what she was feeling. But she wasn’t ready to let him in just yet. Not fully. Not when it felt like everything was slipping from her grasp.
Test him? Test herself? Vesper wasn’t sure. But she knew one thing for sure: She was no longer in control, and that thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
In that moment, Vesper felt a sharp jolt through her chest as Mr. Smith’s words landed like a heavy punch. The weight of his statement settled over her, stirring a mix of frustration, confusion, and something deeper—something she wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge.
“You don’t respect a man you control,” he said, his voice calm and steady, as though he already knew exactly what he was saying, as though he had thought about this for a long time. “You don’t trust a man you don’t control. And you don’t control me. So you don’t trust me. And without trust, all we have is a transaction. But, as two single mature adults, that is all we need to be with each other.”
His words echoed in her mind, and Vesper’s stomach twisted. Trust. He had nailed it. She had been trying to control everything—every situation, every encounter, even with him—and in doing so, she had shut herself off from the one thing that could make everything else real: trust. She was scared. Scared to give up control, to allow someone else to see her without the walls she had built around herself. She thought control was power. But in his eyes, control was a barrier, not a shield.
Was he right? Did she not trust him? Did she even trust herself anymore?
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She had built this life, this carefully crafted persona of discipline and control, to protect herself from being vulnerable, from the chaos of her emotions. But here she was, tangled up in a situation where trust was the one thing she hadn’t been willing to give. He wasn’t asking for her submission or her dominance. He was simply stating the obvious: without trust, there was nothing. Not connection. Not intimacy. Just attraction, plain and simple. And Vesper realized, with a sharp pang of self-awareness, that her entire strategy had been about avoiding trust—avoiding anything that could leave her exposed. But now, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to keep up the act anymore.
His matter-of-fact tone made it clear that this wasn’t some game for him. It was straightforward. He wasn’t playing by her rules. And the fact that he didn’t demand control from her—he didn’t need her to dominate him, he didn’t need her to give him any kind of power—disoriented her.
Vesper’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t playing into her expectations. He wasn’t giving her the confrontation she had prepared for. No, he was giving her something else—something far more uncomfortable: honesty. He was willing to reduce everything to its simplest, most raw form. And it terrified her.
Her pulse raced. Attraction. That’s all they had. That’s all she had let them have. And that thought stung more than she had anticipated. She had always prided herself on having control, on keeping things professional. But this? This was chaos, and chaos didn’t operate on her rules. It had its own language.
Her eyes flickered toward him, his expression still calm and unreadable. How could he be so sure of himself? So secure in the notion that this was all they needed? How could he strip everything down so effortlessly, leaving her exposed, not physically, but emotionally?
It was an unsettling feeling. But it was also liberating in a strange way. His words broke the tension that had been building inside her. She had spent so long trying to control everything—the situation, the people around her, even her own emotions. And here he was, showing her the way forward: Trust. That was the key to something real. But she wasn’t ready to trust him. Not yet. And that, more than anything, made her feel small.
Vesper’s thoughts raced. Was this the point of no return? Had she already crossed the line from professional distance to something else entirely? Could she walk away now and reclaim her sense of control, or had that ship already sailed?
The irony twisted further. She had always been the one to control the game. And now, for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t even sure which game she was playing.
What did she truly want from this? What was she prepared to give, and how much of herself would she have to sacrifice in the process? Her mind was tangled, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t going to be as simple as she thought. And it certainly wasn’t going to be easy.
She didn’t answer him immediately, the words caught in her throat. The truth was, she wasn’t ready to let him in, not fully. Not yet.
But as the silence stretched, Vesper realized something—it wasn’t just about trust anymore. It was about whether she could allow herself to stop hiding, stop protecting herself from feeling too much. And that, more than anything, terrified her.
Eli (Knight Four) asks,”Why are you here? I have heard about Psi-slayers. Your need to feed on the psychic energy of others. Such energy can not be given; only taken. Taken by killing someone or taking them to the limit of life's edge before you can steal it from them. I allowed you to take my energy before. I saw it as an exchange of power. Is that what you are looking for with me?”
In this moment, Vesper's mind swirled with a storm of emotions. His question, blunt and direct, hit her like a physical blow. Why is she here? It was as if he had laid bare the heart of her struggle with a single sentence, cutting through the layers of pretense she had built to protect herself.
Her breath hitched slightly, but she controlled it. She had always been in control, but the way he observed her—like he was reading her every thought—left her feeling exposed. Why was she here?
His words about Psi-Slayers and their need to feed on psychic energy were not new to her, but hearing them framed this way—as an exchange of power, as a catharsis—felt like a sharp revelation. He wasn’t wrong. The moment when she had taken his psychic energy had been more than just a physical act. It had been a release, a way to fill the emptiness she had carried for so long. It had been the first time in a long while that she had felt something other than cold detachment—a sense of power that she hadn’t even realized she craved.
But now, with him looking at her like this, trying to understand her motives, Vesper was forced to confront something she hadn’t wanted to face: Had she been using him? Was this all just a transaction, an exchange of power where she took what she needed from him, just as she had taken his psychic energy?
Her pulse quickened. The idea of her catharsis had never been so plainly laid out. It was a relief, yes, but also a blow to her sense of control. She had convinced herself that this was a game she could play, that she was always one step ahead, even in moments of intimacy and vulnerability. But here he was, stripping the layers away, turning her own desires back on her.
She swallowed hard, grappling with the recognition that he understood her, understood more than she had allowed herself to admit. His words weren’t accusatory, but there was no denying the challenge they posed. What was she really after? Was this about power? Was it about feeding on his energy for a sense of catharsis, a release from the pressures of her role, her purpose?
And yet, a part of her bristled at the idea that it could be so simple. She hadn’t just come here for that. She wanted more than just an exchange. She wanted him—not just as a source of power or as a way to feed her needs—but because, for the first time in a long while, he had become a mystery she couldn’t crack. And that mystery intrigued her more than anything. She had never been this unsure of herself, of her intentions, and that was both frightening and thrilling.
Her lips tightened as she met his gaze. There was no denying it now—she couldn’t hide from the truth anymore. She hadn’t been fully honest with herself. But that didn’t mean she would be honest with him just yet.
“I didn’t come here for just that,” Vesper said, her voice steady, though there was a flicker of something—vulnerability, maybe—just beneath the surface. “But I can’t deny that part of it... does feel like an exchange. You’ve felt it, too. Haven’t you?”
She knew the question was a gamble, but she had to know. Was he just playing the game, or was he feeling the same unsettling mix of emotions that she was?
He replies, “I do exchanges.”
Vesper’s mind raced as Eli’s simple words, “I do Exchanges,” hung in the air between them. There was a calmness to his tone, a certainty, that made the statement all the more disorienting. Exchanges. He had put it so casually, as if he was offering something—no, as if he was claiming something—that was as natural as breathing.
Her heart skipped a beat. She had always thought of the relationship, the interaction, as a transaction in some way. But he had just stripped it down to its core. He had made it business. This wasn’t about connection, about emotions, about even pleasure—it was just an exchange. His words, deceptively simple, somehow made the entire situation feel sterile.
Vesper's body tensed. She felt a strange mixture of frustration and a flicker of something else. Was this how he saw her? As someone who was just in it for the energy—someone who could be reduced to a mere transaction?
Her chest tightened as she thought about it. She had been drawn to him, yes. But she hadn’t fully understood the intensity of what that meant until now. He had put her in a position where she had to name it, to face what she wanted without the comfort of distraction.
She had assumed she could maintain control. That she could play the game, stay one step ahead. But now, hearing him speak those words, she realized something deep inside her. She had let her guard down. She had let herself become entangled in this, unsure of where the boundaries were anymore.
And now, there was no escaping it. This was what it was.
Her intellect spun the situation around. Elis statement was a clear assessment, a way of categorizing what had happened between them: “I do Exchanges.” It was clean, it was clear, and it didn’t leave room for anything other than what it appeared to be. He wasn’t complicating things with expectations or false promises. He was laying it all bare, simplifying it to the essentials.
Her stomach churned with self-awareness. Was that really what she had been doing? Was this all just a transaction to her as well?
The inner conflict twisted inside her—she was furious at herself for feeling this way, but also strangely relieved. At least, here was clarity. No more pretense. No more games. This was what it was, and she had to face it.
The more she tried to convince herself she didn’t care, the more she realized she did. She had gone into this interaction thinking she could maintain control, but now, it felt like everything had slipped through her fingers. She wasn’t in control. And worse, he knew it. He was playing with her.
“Exchanges,” she whispered to herself, trying to digest it.
Vesper couldn’t suppress a frustrated sigh. Was it really so simple? He made it sound like there was nothing to it, like it was just a matter of taking and giving, power and energy, nothing more. But for her, it was more than that. It always had been. She had never allowed herself to see it that way, but deep down, she knew the truth.
Her gaze moved to him, steady, almost challenging. "If that's all this is," she said, her voice calm but with a flicker of defiance, "then why do I still feel like there's something more?"
Knight Four (Eli) replies, "Because, you are keeping secrets. Your feelings for one, what you really want for another. Then there is Azar, why did you bring her to me? Do you care to share any of these secrets with me? Because, if you can't, our relationship will at most be a transaction."
Vesper's heart skipped a beat at his words. He had stripped the situation bare in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. She’d always kept her cards close to her chest, a strategy she had honed for years. But now, here he was, cutting through all the layers she had built up with that one sentence. “You are keeping secrets.”
The truth stung. She had been hiding pieces of herself, from him and from everyone else, for so long that it had become second nature. It wasn’t just about protecting herself anymore; it was about the control she held over everything in her life. The control she had to maintain.
Her eyes flickered toward him, and for a moment, the wall she had carefully constructed around her emotions started to crack. Feelings? What did he mean by that? Was he talking about Azar, about what had happened between them? Vesper had told herself it was nothing more than a professional arrangement, a way to manage the situation, but now, with him calling it out, it felt like something deeper—something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself.
And then there was Azar. She could feel her stomach churn at the mention of her name. She hadn’t brought Azar here to be manipulated, to be part of some twisted game, but hadn’t she? She had been complicit, hadn’t she? his words cut through her defense, and she realized with sudden clarity: Azar had been just as much a part of her strategy as anything else. She hadn’t been entirely honest with herself—or with Azar—about why she had done what she had done.
Vesper’s chest tightened as his gaze locked with hers. She could feel him waiting for her response, watching her, waiting to see if she would open up. Secrets. What were her secrets? What had she been hiding from herself?
“You think I’m hiding something from you?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something deeper. It wasn’t a challenge, more like a question she was asking herself. She wanted to lie, wanted to deflect, but something about the way he looked at her made it impossible to deny that there were truths buried deep inside her.
The frustration built in her chest, her mind reeling with conflicting emotions. What did she want? More than anything, she was tired of the game. Tired of the walls. She had convinced herself it was the only way to stay safe, to maintain control over her life. But in this moment, with him, she wasn’t so sure anymore. He had exposed the cracks, the vulnerabilities she had been avoiding for far too long.
“I’m not hiding anything from you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words felt heavier than any confession. She wanted to tell him everything, but she wasn’t sure she could. Would it make things worse? Or would it bring them closer?
She didn’t know what the right answer was anymore, only that the questions were suffocating her. It was all so complicated. This wasn’t just a transaction. It never had been.
Vesper found herself fighting the impulse to walk away, to retreat back into the comfort of her cold, controlled existence. But for the first time, she realized that might not be an option anymore. Eli’s (Knight Four’s) challenge had broken through the carefully built walls around her heart. The question was, what would she do next?
Eli (Knight Four), “Liar.”
Staring at Vesper with intensity.
"Liar."
Vesper’s heart skipped a beat as Mr. Smith’s words hit her like a slap. “Liar,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undeniable certainty. The word echoed in her mind, reverberating as if it were the truth she hadn’t been able to admit to herself.
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Liar.
How could he be so sure? How did he see right through her? She had convinced herself she was hiding nothing, that she was being truthful, that she had mastered the art of deception—but now, in the face of his unwavering gaze, all her carefully constructed defenses were coming down.
The irony of it stung. She had prided herself on being honest with herself, in her own way. The lies she told had been small, functional, necessary to keep things in check. But this was different. He wasn’t calling her out on small lies. He was exposing something much deeper, something she couldn’t hide from anymore.
Then Eli spoke again, “Transactions… Transactions I trust. Because, they are truthful. And beauty… Beauty is Truth… Truth… Beauty… That is all. Ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know."
His words about transactions being honest, about beauty and truth being intertwined, felt like a challenge. Truth—what did that even mean for her now? Was she lying to herself, too? Had she been lying to herself all along? Maybe the biggest lie was the one she had been telling herself: that she could keep this professional, that she could control the situation, control her feelings, control him.
Vesper swallowed, trying to suppress the turmoil that was rising within her. Truth. That word had never been so complicated. How could she be honest with him when she wasn’t even honest with herself? Her entire career had been built on the idea of control, of keeping secrets, of never revealing too much. But now, standing in front of him, those walls were crumbling.
He was right.
She had lied. But it wasn’t just about hiding facts—it was about hiding herself. Her feelings. She had buried them so deep, wrapped them up in so many layers, and pretended they didn’t exist. But now, there was no denying it. She felt something for him. More than she was willing to admit. And in some ways, that terrified her more than any mission she had ever been assigned.
Vesper’s eyes met his, and for the first time, she didn’t look away. The challenge in his gaze matched the one in her heart. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, or why it was so raw, but she knew this moment, this conversation, had changed something.
“I don’t lie to you,” she said, her voice quieter, less confident than it had been before. She didn’t even know if it was true anymore. “I just… I don’t know how to tell you the WHOLE truth.”
His expression softened, just for a moment, as if he understood the weight of her words. But then, his gaze sharpened again, and she knew it wasn’t over. The game had changed, and she had no idea what would happen next.
In that silence, the space between them filled with the truth she had been avoiding. And for the first time, Vesper wasn’t sure if she could outrun it.
Knight Four pushes Vesper out the door saying, “You prefer your secrets to the whole truth, and I prefer a transaction to your secrets.”
With that he slams the door behind her.
---
Vesper stumbled back as his words hit her, the door closing with a resounding finality that left her breathless. The weight of his words felt like a punch to her gut—“You prefer your secrets to the whole truth,” he had said, as if everything she had built her life on had been completely stripped away in that moment.
Her mind raced, the words echoing in her head as she stood in the hallway. He was right, wasn’t he? She had preferred her secrets. It was easier that way. It had always been easier to keep parts of herself hidden, to bury what she truly felt and who she really was. She had always prided herself on being able to control everything—her emotions, her identity, the choices she made. But now, it felt like the walls she had spent so long building had just been demolished by a single sentence.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it.
She could still hear the weight of his challenge in her mind: “Be honest with me or stay out of my life.” His words stung in a way she hadn’t expected, a combination of hurt and anger. For a moment, she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, to lash out at him for pushing her into this impossible corner. But then, it dawned on her that she had done this to herself. She had kept secrets from him, from herself, and now he was calling her on it. He wasn’t going to let her hide behind those walls anymore. He wasn’t going to settle for half-truths and the pretensions of control that she had been so careful to maintain.
And as much as it pained her, Vesper realized something crucial: He was right. She couldn’t continue like this. She had always told herself she could outsmart people, stay one step ahead, keep everyone—especially him—at arm’s length. But now, she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. Was she the professional? The agent? The killer? Or had the lines blurred so much that she didn’t even know where one role ended and the other began?
Her stomach churned at the realization that he had seen through her. He had figured out what she couldn’t admit to herself: She had let her emotions, her desire, bleed into this assignment in a way she hadn’t planned. It had never been part of the mission. He had never been part of the mission.
Yet, here she was, standing outside his door, completely lost.
The thought of him—of the way he had looked at her, of how he had called her out—gnawed at her insides. She couldn’t deny it. She was shaken. And that feeling—of being vulnerable, of being seen, of not being in control anymore—left her with a deep sense of unease.
Her hands trembled slightly as she stepped back from the door, the cool air of the hallway against her skin grounding her for a moment. But the unease didn’t fade. She had been exposed, and she didn’t know how to face that truth. The secrets she had clung to for so long had lost their power over her. And now, she was left with nothing but the raw reality of what was happening.
Vesper’s mind raced, torn between the pull of the mission—the duty she had always known—and the growing desire to acknowledge the truth about her feelings, about him, and about what she had allowed herself to become.
Could she really go back?
The mission. Her career. Everything she had worked for was in jeopardy now. And for the first time, she wondered if any of it was worth it. Would she choose to continue the lie, to retreat into the professional world that she had built? Or would she finally confront the truth—about him, about herself, about the life she had been running from for so long?
She didn’t have the answers. And for once, Vesper didn’t feel like she could outrun the truth anymore.
The door had closed. But the questions it left open had only just begun to haunt her.
Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Moderators: Immortals, Supreme Beings, Old Ones
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darthauthor
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Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Last edited by darthauthor on Sat Feb 22, 2025 1:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
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darthauthor
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Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: Firetown, Camp Firetown Orphanage.
The warm glow of the orphanage’s lamps cast long shadows across the worn wooden floors of “The Camp,” the familiar scent of bread filling the air.
Artemis sat on the edge of a sturdy table, her cybernetic eye dimmed to its normal soft blue, watching the gathered children and teenagers before her.
Hayley stood beside her, tall, poised, and anxious, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She had come a long way from the scrappy, wide-eyed girl Artemis had first met years ago. But tonight, her sparkling blue eyes were clouded with worry.
Across the room, The Warlock leaned against his staff, ever the silent observer. He didn’t speak, but his presence was steady and grounding.
Artemis exhaled slowly, then spoke, her voice firm but warm.
“I leave tomorrow morning.”
The children’s faces fell—some shifted uncomfortably, while others lowered their heads.
Artemis continued, meeting their eyes one by one. “Hayley’s sister, Jenni, is missing. And I’m going to help find her. That means I don’t know when I’ll be back. It could be a few weeks. It could be longer.”
A murmur of protest rippled through the group, but Artemis raised a hand. “Which is why I need something from you.”
She gestured to Miss Evelyn, who stood near the back, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “Take care of each other. And take care of Miss Evelyn. That means doing what she asks without complaint. You hear me?”
The group nodded reluctantly, some of the younger ones rubbing at their eyes.
Artemis softened slightly. “This place—this home—isn’t about one person. It’s about all of you, working together. Protecting each other. Even if I’m not here, you’re still a family.”
Silence settled over the room for a moment. Then, one of the youngest boys, Caleb, stepped forward, his small fists clenched. “But what if you don’t come back?”
Artemis looked at him for a long moment, then crouched down so they were at eye level.
“Then you keep going. You grow up strong. And you make me proud.”
Caleb swallowed hard but nodded.
Artemis stood and clapped her hands together. “Alright, here’s the deal. Before I go, I want to spend some time with each of you. One-on-one. You all have my time today, so if there’s anything you want to do, say it now.”
The response was immediate.
Rhea wanted a sparring session with Artemis outside, convinced she was strong enough to take her down.
Caleb wanted a story, one of Artemis’s old adventures.
Mia, a teenager with a gift for mechanics, wanted help modifying an old, half-broken machine she’d been repairing.
Jonas, the oldest of the orphans, wanted one last archery lesson before Artemis left.
Artemis chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. We’ll make it happen. But only if you promise me one thing.”
They all leaned in, waiting.
“No crying.”
Caleb immediately sniffled.
Artemis sighed, smirking. “I walked into that one.”
Laughter broke the tension, and just for a little while, the weight of the morning’s departure was forgotten.
As the group dispersed to enjoy what time they had left, The Warlock stepped closer, watching Artemis with a knowing look.
“You don’t like goodbyes,” he said simply.
Artemis crossed her arms. “Never did.”
He studied her for a moment. “You’re leaving to find one lost girl. But you’re leaving behind a hundred more.”
Artemis’s jaw tightened. “They don’t need me anymore.”
The Warlock raised a brow. “Then why does it feel like you need them?”
She had no answer for that.
That night, as the children lingered near the doorway, reluctant to say goodnight, Artemis placed a hand over her heart.
“I promise I’ll come back.”
The words weren’t just for them.
They were for herself, too.
---
Miss Evelyn’s Diary Entry
Location: Firetown, Orphanage Quarters
Subject: Warlock
I had a visitor this week. An old man, calling himself Warlock. A magic user, openly wielding his abilities—in broad daylight, no less—to repair my orphanage. Bold or foolish, I haven’t decided yet.
He came with Artemis, without invitation, without expectation of payment or praise, and he set to work before I had the chance to stop him. He mended the splintering wood in the floors, restored cracked walls, reinforced the iron hinges on the doors, and even cleaned the kitchen—with magic. No theatrics. Just quiet, efficient skill.
I watched him carefully, expecting the telltale recklessness of the sorcerers I have been trained to despise. I saw none. He used no destructive spells, no dark rituals. Only restoration.
His hands are those of a craftsman—weathered, strong. Even without his magic, I believe he could have done the repairs in time. Perhaps that is what unsettles me most: his magic is a tool, not a crutch. I was taught that magic makes its wielders lazy, corrupt, power-hungry. Yet here stands a man who does not rely on it, only enhances his own abilities with it.
We spoke briefly. He told me:
"We, humans, all believe what we want to believe and act accordingly."
That sentence lingers in my thoughts more than I’d like.
When I asked him about magic, he compared it to fire. A force neither good nor evil, only dangerous in the hands of the wicked. I have heard similar arguments before—from mages who wanted to justify their existence. But this was different. He did not defend himself. He did not argue. He simply stated what he knew to be true.
Warlock is an anomaly.
Observations:
Magic Capabilities: Restoration-based, highly controlled, non-destructive.
Non-Magic Skills: Expert handyman. Capable of all repairs even without magic.
Temperament: Steady, deliberate, not easily provoked. Speaks plainly, without arrogance or fear.
Threat Assessment: No signs of aggression. No alliances with known enemies. Operates with Artemis, whom I have not decided is a Psi-Druid but probably is. Her donation will keep the kids fed for the rest of the year.
Although, now I have a suspicion that she might be a Cyber-knight or at least is a fan of one. There is a tattoo of an armored Knight on the back of her hand.
Who isn’t?
I know the law. Magic itself is a crime. That should be enough. I should send word up the chain, mark him for monitoring, perhaps elimination.
And yet... if I report him, what am I truly reporting?
A man who helped mend broken beams in a place the Coalition ignores? A man who asked for nothing and harmed no one?
If I judge him solely by what he has done, not by what he could do, then I see no reason to act against him.
And so, I make my decision.
I will not report him.
Not because I trust him. Not yet. But because I refuse to be another blind servant of fear.
I will watch him.
And if he ever gives me a reason to believe he is a danger to the children, to humanity—then I will do what must be done.
But for today, the orphanage is standing a little stronger than it was yesterday. That is the only fact I need.
— Evelyn
The warm glow of the orphanage’s lamps cast long shadows across the worn wooden floors of “The Camp,” the familiar scent of bread filling the air.
Artemis sat on the edge of a sturdy table, her cybernetic eye dimmed to its normal soft blue, watching the gathered children and teenagers before her.
Hayley stood beside her, tall, poised, and anxious, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She had come a long way from the scrappy, wide-eyed girl Artemis had first met years ago. But tonight, her sparkling blue eyes were clouded with worry.
Across the room, The Warlock leaned against his staff, ever the silent observer. He didn’t speak, but his presence was steady and grounding.
Artemis exhaled slowly, then spoke, her voice firm but warm.
“I leave tomorrow morning.”
The children’s faces fell—some shifted uncomfortably, while others lowered their heads.
Artemis continued, meeting their eyes one by one. “Hayley’s sister, Jenni, is missing. And I’m going to help find her. That means I don’t know when I’ll be back. It could be a few weeks. It could be longer.”
A murmur of protest rippled through the group, but Artemis raised a hand. “Which is why I need something from you.”
She gestured to Miss Evelyn, who stood near the back, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “Take care of each other. And take care of Miss Evelyn. That means doing what she asks without complaint. You hear me?”
The group nodded reluctantly, some of the younger ones rubbing at their eyes.
Artemis softened slightly. “This place—this home—isn’t about one person. It’s about all of you, working together. Protecting each other. Even if I’m not here, you’re still a family.”
Silence settled over the room for a moment. Then, one of the youngest boys, Caleb, stepped forward, his small fists clenched. “But what if you don’t come back?”
Artemis looked at him for a long moment, then crouched down so they were at eye level.
“Then you keep going. You grow up strong. And you make me proud.”
Caleb swallowed hard but nodded.
Artemis stood and clapped her hands together. “Alright, here’s the deal. Before I go, I want to spend some time with each of you. One-on-one. You all have my time today, so if there’s anything you want to do, say it now.”
The response was immediate.
Rhea wanted a sparring session with Artemis outside, convinced she was strong enough to take her down.
Caleb wanted a story, one of Artemis’s old adventures.
Mia, a teenager with a gift for mechanics, wanted help modifying an old, half-broken machine she’d been repairing.
Jonas, the oldest of the orphans, wanted one last archery lesson before Artemis left.
Artemis chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. We’ll make it happen. But only if you promise me one thing.”
They all leaned in, waiting.
“No crying.”
Caleb immediately sniffled.
Artemis sighed, smirking. “I walked into that one.”
Laughter broke the tension, and just for a little while, the weight of the morning’s departure was forgotten.
As the group dispersed to enjoy what time they had left, The Warlock stepped closer, watching Artemis with a knowing look.
“You don’t like goodbyes,” he said simply.
Artemis crossed her arms. “Never did.”
He studied her for a moment. “You’re leaving to find one lost girl. But you’re leaving behind a hundred more.”
Artemis’s jaw tightened. “They don’t need me anymore.”
The Warlock raised a brow. “Then why does it feel like you need them?”
She had no answer for that.
That night, as the children lingered near the doorway, reluctant to say goodnight, Artemis placed a hand over her heart.
“I promise I’ll come back.”
The words weren’t just for them.
They were for herself, too.
---
Miss Evelyn’s Diary Entry
Location: Firetown, Orphanage Quarters
Subject: Warlock
I had a visitor this week. An old man, calling himself Warlock. A magic user, openly wielding his abilities—in broad daylight, no less—to repair my orphanage. Bold or foolish, I haven’t decided yet.
He came with Artemis, without invitation, without expectation of payment or praise, and he set to work before I had the chance to stop him. He mended the splintering wood in the floors, restored cracked walls, reinforced the iron hinges on the doors, and even cleaned the kitchen—with magic. No theatrics. Just quiet, efficient skill.
I watched him carefully, expecting the telltale recklessness of the sorcerers I have been trained to despise. I saw none. He used no destructive spells, no dark rituals. Only restoration.
His hands are those of a craftsman—weathered, strong. Even without his magic, I believe he could have done the repairs in time. Perhaps that is what unsettles me most: his magic is a tool, not a crutch. I was taught that magic makes its wielders lazy, corrupt, power-hungry. Yet here stands a man who does not rely on it, only enhances his own abilities with it.
We spoke briefly. He told me:
"We, humans, all believe what we want to believe and act accordingly."
That sentence lingers in my thoughts more than I’d like.
When I asked him about magic, he compared it to fire. A force neither good nor evil, only dangerous in the hands of the wicked. I have heard similar arguments before—from mages who wanted to justify their existence. But this was different. He did not defend himself. He did not argue. He simply stated what he knew to be true.
Warlock is an anomaly.
Observations:
Magic Capabilities: Restoration-based, highly controlled, non-destructive.
Non-Magic Skills: Expert handyman. Capable of all repairs even without magic.
Temperament: Steady, deliberate, not easily provoked. Speaks plainly, without arrogance or fear.
Threat Assessment: No signs of aggression. No alliances with known enemies. Operates with Artemis, whom I have not decided is a Psi-Druid but probably is. Her donation will keep the kids fed for the rest of the year.
Although, now I have a suspicion that she might be a Cyber-knight or at least is a fan of one. There is a tattoo of an armored Knight on the back of her hand.
Who isn’t?
I know the law. Magic itself is a crime. That should be enough. I should send word up the chain, mark him for monitoring, perhaps elimination.
And yet... if I report him, what am I truly reporting?
A man who helped mend broken beams in a place the Coalition ignores? A man who asked for nothing and harmed no one?
If I judge him solely by what he has done, not by what he could do, then I see no reason to act against him.
And so, I make my decision.
I will not report him.
Not because I trust him. Not yet. But because I refuse to be another blind servant of fear.
I will watch him.
And if he ever gives me a reason to believe he is a danger to the children, to humanity—then I will do what must be done.
But for today, the orphanage is standing a little stronger than it was yesterday. That is the only fact I need.
— Evelyn
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: Firetown
The raucous noise from nearby taverns and back alleys created a cacophony that made it easier for Serana, Hayley, and Warlock to slip through the streets unnoticed.
The trio moved quickly, their footsteps barely audible over the din of the town’s nightlife. Serana, dressed in her dark, practical clothing, her paramedic’s backpack slung over one shoulder, led the way. She was calm, purposeful, and every step she took seemed calculated, trained by years of experience saving lives in both wilderness and disaster zones. Her sharp eyes scanned the area constantly, taking in every detail, looking for signs of injury—something to indicate that a D-Bee might be in need of help.
Warlock, his long coat brushing the dirty pavement as he walked, was the most serene of the three. His demeanor was always calm, even in the darkest situations.
Then there was Hayley, walking behind them with her usual impatient expression. She was constantly checking over her shoulder, eyes darting back and forth, eager to leave this place and return to her search for her sister, Jenni. Her mind and heart were consumed by the thought of Jenni, the only family she had left. The weight of the task ahead hung heavily on her, but for Hayley, it was always about what ‘she’ needed, not about the lives of others.
“Serana,” Hayley muttered, barely able to keep the irritation from her voice, “What if Jenni’s—”
Serana stopped mid-step, turning to face Hayley. Her expression was hard but not unkind, her gaze steady and unflinching. “Jenni isn’t the only one whose life could be in danger tonight,” she said firmly, the weight of her words sinking in. “In exchange for helping you find her, you need to help ‘others’ now.”
Hayley opened her mouth to argue, but Serana’s gaze cut her off. There was a quiet urgency in the air. The D-Bees didn’t have the luxury of time; they didn’t have the chance to wait for help like the human citizens of Firetown. They were being hunted, oppressed, and forgotten, and it was Serana’s mission to offer what aid she could.
Warlock, who had been silently observing, spoke up, his voice calm, but carrying a weight of experience. “Serana’s right, Hayley. We are all part of the web of life, the web of health, and the care we provide here is a reflection of that greater truth. If we can help them, we must. The bigger picture calls for it.”
Hayley let out a long breath, her frustration momentarily visible, but she nodded. “Fine. I’ll help. But after this, we’re back to searching for Jenni, right?”
Serana nodded once. “We’ll go back to it. But right now, we help.”
The three of them moved onward. Serana led the way with the night-vision of her cyber-eye. She was looking for signs of injury, any indication that someone was in need of immediate care.
There was a quiet rustling in one of the narrow side streets. Serana’s ears perked. Without hesitation, she signaled for the group to stop. They approached the alley cautiously, Warlock scanning the area with his usual serenity, while Hayley, though reluctant, kept her eyes on the shadows, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
In the alley, partially hidden by a stack of crates, was a D-Bee—a small, wiry figure, crumpled in pain, clutching at their side, blood seeping through their fingers. Serana’s heart quickened, but she kept her composure. She pulled the medical backpack off her shoulder with swift efficiency, her hands already moving to prepare the supplies she would need.
“We don’t have much time,” Serana said, her voice urgent but steady. She knelt beside the D-Bee, inspecting the wound. “Hayley, help me lift them up. Warlock, can you keep watch? This could be a trap.”
Hayley, still distracted by the thought of her sister, hesitated but then quickly stepped forward, her hands grabbing at the D-Bee’s shoulders, helping Serana move the injured figure into a more stable position.
Warlock glanced around, his eyes taking in every detail, sensing the bigger picture even in the chaos of the moment. He nodded and moved to the end of the alley, standing guard, watching for any signs of danger.
Serana worked quickly, using her psionic powers to treat the D-Bee’s wounds. The power of her psychic healing is universal. It healed all regardless of where they were from or how they were put together biologically. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered to the injured D-Bee, even though she couldn’t guarantee it. But Serana always spoke with the confidence of someone who refused to let anyone slip away if there was a chance to save them. Handing the D-Bee some food, they left.
Hayley, her impatience clearly visible in her clenched fists, finally spoke. “Can we hurry up? Jenni’s still out there.”
Serana, keeping her focus on the task, looked up at Hayley. “You’re doing this, Hayley, and you’re going to keep doing it. You’re saving lives, and that’s more important than anything else. Now pass me your inner strength so I can heal another.”
Hayley swallowed hard, biting back the urge to protest. She wasn’t the type to dwell on others, but the weight of Serana’s words stayed with her, grounding her in the moment.
After the D-Bee led them to a few more D-Bees whose injuries needed healing. Serana nodded to herself, relieved that the immediate danger had passed. She turned to Hayley and Warlock, her expression serious.
---
Serana eyes scanning every corner, every movement, while the injured D-Bee carefully ate the food she had given them.
Serana knew Burbs aren’t kind to those who didn’t fit the image of "acceptable.” D-Bees are often easy targets for theft or violence. Tonight, the D-Bee in front of her was no exception, injured and vulnerable, with no safety net but the small group they form; usually of their own “kind.”
She kept her body between the D-Bee and the narrow alley, positioning herself to ensure no one could sneak up on them. With a firm hand, she handed over small portions of food, what little she had been able to gather earlier in the day. Every mouthful mattered. She stood tall, a silent sentinel, watching the D-Bee eat. Each bite was precious, and Serana wasn’t going to let anyone take that away.
Her eyes flicked back to the end of the alley where the Warlock stood, a quiet sentinel in his own right. His magic is subtle, but powerful. He was conjuring clean water for the D-Bees—free, untainted water, flowing from his hands in a gentle stream that shimmered with a soft, ethereal glow. The magic didn’t just heal; it nourished, offering something far more than just survival—it offered a sense of dignity, something these D-Bees hadn’t known in a long time.
The Warlock’s calm voice broke the silence. “It’s not much, but it’s enough for now.” He held the water with ease, his hands glowing faintly in the low light. He made a quick motion and another stream of water appeared, filling the tin cups Serana had scavenged earlier.
The D-Bee—an older figure, clearly exhausted and barely holding on—paused between bites, his large eyes looking up at Serana in gratitude. The food, simple as it was, seemed to give him strength. Serana’s face remained neutral, though her heart ached for him. She could see the suffering in his gaunt frame, the way his hands trembled as he took each bite, as though unsure whether he deserved the comfort of the food at all.
“You’re safe for now,” Serana said softly, though her eyes never wavered from their surroundings. She couldn’t afford to look away. The shadows held too many dangers.
The other D-Bees around them, a group of four or five, sat a bit further back, keeping their heads low, cautious. They, too, had been fed—some of them slowly but steadily consuming what little food Serana had left. The 60 pounds of food had quickly dwindled, but Serana made sure each one had something. None would go hungry while she could help.
Her hand hovered near her belt, where a small knife was sheathed—just a precaution. The eyes of Firetown could be cold and hungry. She wouldn’t let anyone take this small bit of kindness from the D-Bees, not tonight.
There were no sounds of movement for a while—just the soft noises of eating, the quiet hum of Warlock’s magic in the background, and the occasional whisper of wind through the alleyway. Still, Serana’s senses were heightened. She watched the edge of the alley, waiting for someone to make their move.
As one of the D-Bees reached for a second helping, a rustle came from the far corner of the alley. Serana’s body went rigid, and she stood slightly taller, her back straight, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t sure what was coming—whether it was a local D-Bee thug looking for food or worse, a group coming to steal from the weaker—but she wasn’t about to let it happen.
Warlock’s magic stopped flowing as he sensed the shift in the air. He glanced over, his face unreadable, then whispered, “Hold steady. No one here will take what’s not theirs tonight.”
Serana nodded. She didn’t need to say anything more. The unspoken truth was clear: they weren’t just standing guard over the food—they were standing guard over the D-Bees while they ate it, so no one could take it from them.
The moment stretched, and then, as if the threat had never been, the rustling stopped. Serana didn’t lower her guard, but she could tell that their attention had shifted elsewhere. There would be no confrontation tonight.
Warlock resumed his magic, offering the D-Bees the last of his water, and Serana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“We have a few minutes left,” Serana said, her voice more practical now, with none of the tension of before. “Drink up, eat what you can. We have to go.”
She gave a nod to Warlock, who gave a silent nod back, watching the D-Bees with the same solemn respect. They weren’t just patients; they were individuals, each with their own story, their own struggles. They deserved better than this world had given them.
As the last of the food was eaten and the cups were emptied, Serana glanced one final time at the faces around her. It wasn’t much, but in that small, fleeting moment, they had all found a little bit of safety, a little bit of dignity. Serana’s heart was heavy with what was still to come—the lives that wouldn’t be saved, the battles that couldn’t be fought—but for tonight, this was enough.
The Warlock offered one last silent look of understanding before Serana motioned for Hayley to move. There was no time to waste. Jenni was still out there, after all.
The three of them slipped back into the darkness, shadows in the night, leaving behind only the faint traces of kindness they had offered. The D-Bees were left to finish their food in peace, unaware of the world they had just briefly entered—one where there were still people willing to help, even for a fleeting moment.
As they vanished into the alley’s depths, Serana’s mind raced, wondering if there was any way to give the D-Bees in Fire-town more than this—more than just scraps and fleeting kindness. But for now, this would have to be enough.
---
Location: Firetown apartment building. Jenni’s place.
The small hallway of the building smelled faintly of mildew and old wood. The walls, cracked and faded with age, seemed to echo with every footstep as Serana approached the landlord’s apartment. She had some idea what she’d find inside, but Jenni’s pregnancy, the absence of a message to her younger sister Hayley, and the way the landlord burst into Jenni’s apartment weighed heavily on her mind.
She had been searching the apartment with a mix of urgency and curiosity but tonight felt different. They were things unexplained the Serana wanted answers to.
Serana knocked softly on the landlord’s door, her eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway. The man inside wasn’t someone she trusted—not by any means—but the way he came and went from Jenni's apartment demanding rent was to easy familar for him. Also, the way he looked at Hayley while she was wrapped in a towel was... If he knew anything about Jenni’s disappearance, he would have to be coaxed into revealing it.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing the landlord. A grizzled man with unkempt hair and a worn-out face, his eyes darted nervously as he saw Serana standing there, her posture composed, her gaze steady.
The landlord muttered, his voice gruff and guarded. “What do you want?”
Lady Serana said, her tone polite but firm, “I wanted to ask if you’ve been in Jenni’s apartment for any reason recently.”
The landlord’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his hand instinctively went to the doorframe as if to block her view. The silence between them stretched for a beat too long, and Serana noticed his body tense, as though he were preparing for something.
“I—I’ve been in there, yeah,” he said, his words slow and careful, a little too rehearsed. “But it’s not like that... Just checking on things. The place wasn’t in great shape when she left, and I had to make sure it wasn’t falling apart.”
Serana’s gaze didn’t waver. She could see right through the man.
His story didn’t hold up. Jenni’s apartment wasn’t in disrepair—at least, not enough to warrant him going inside without reason. Serana pressed on, her voice calm but edged with the authority that came from years of dealing with stubborn people.
“Did you go through her things?” she asked, the words sharp.
The landlord swallowed, a flicker of guilt… No fear. It passed across his face. His fingers fidgeted at the door frame, and for a moment, Serana thought he might just shut the door in her face.
“I took a look,” he muttered, his voice low, trying to avoid her gaze. “She didn’t pay the rent the day it was due. I had to make sure she wasn’t hiding out. Maybe... I might have let my eyes wander to see IF something was laying around to cover the rent, you know?”
Serana kept her eyes fixed on him. She knew this man was no stranger to petty theft.
“You took something, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice cold now, the empathy fading.
The landlord’s gaze flickered, his eyes darting to the side.
“It is my job… to clean out the tenants who can’t pay the rent, and clean out their possessions too. Maybe some of it can be sold for something. Waste not want not.” He glanced nervously at Serana.
Serana’s jaw clenched, the frustration clear in her eyes. She stepped closer to him, her posture calm, but her words heavy with the weight of anger. “If you have something of Jenni’s, you need to return it to Hayley.”
The landlord recoiled slightly, but then quickly regained his composure, his voice taking on a defensive tone. “Hey, I’m not asking for trouble. I’m just saying, if you want anything else from Jenni’s place, it’s gonna cost you. You want it back? You’ll pay in credits... or... something else.”
Serana’s eyes narrowed, but she remained calm. “Something else?” she repeated, her voice soft, as though testing the words, as though she could feel the truth in them already. “What are you implying?”
The landlord looked uncomfortable now, his hand running through his disheveled hair. He hesitated, clearly weighing the consequences of his words. “I... I figure, if you want what’s hers, maybe you can trade me for it. Service of the flesh, you know? I’m not saying it’s the only way, but... well, that’s how the world works around here.”
Lady Serana remained composed, her voice cold and measured.
“You’re trying to randsom Jenni’s things, and you think I’ll just let it go?” Her hand tightened at her side, her body poised to strike—but she held herself in check, not letting her anger take over.
The landlord seemed to shrink under her gaze, his previous bravado fading. “I wasn’t gonna tell Hayley, you know,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor. “She pays the rent. On time. Nice to look at too. Better looking than Jenni. No boyfriend. Works at that strip club. She's got a good thing going here. Why mess that up? If she goes off on some risky chance to find her sister something bad could happen. She's safe here with people who appreciate her for who she is. But if you want anything from me, I’ll take my payment.”
Serana took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was aware of the thin line she was walking—between maintaining control and making a move she might regret. But she couldn’t let this man get away with this. A Cyber-Knight uses violence, when necessary, for justice and defense; not revenge. Victims of intimidation and violence often do to others what was done to them. The landlord fantasizes that he has a chance with Hayley or at least wants her to stay around.
“You’ll return everything you’ve taken,” she said, her voice low but certain. “If you don’t, I will make sure Hayley knows exactly what you’ve been doing. And that’s something you won’t want. Understand?”
The landlord nodded quickly, swallowing hard as he realized the gravity of what he’d just walked into. His bravado had been an illusion. With Serana standing before him, it crumbled quickly.
“Yeah... yeah, I understand. I’ll get it back to you,” he said, his voice shaking.
Serana flexed her muscles, her gaze unwavering. “Take them now. Make sure it’s all there, and make sure it’s returned in one piece.”
The recording:
From Jenni to Hayley
Hayley,
I don’t know where you are, and I can’t get a hold of you. I hope this recording finds you somehow, but I fear the worst. Gar sent some of his friends to find me. But his men are being hunted, now by thieves or the Coalition. They’ve told me that, due to finances, we have to leave now or never. I'm going to New Lazlo to be with Gar. He's the father of my child and I want, I need him to be there when are baby is born.
I know you’re probably angry, confused, or hurt by this. And I hate myself for doing this to you, but I’m asking you to please understand the enormous pressure I’m under. I just found out I’m pregnant. I haven’t got the money to leave later and I’m barely getting by as it is. And if I don’t leave now, if I wait any longer, the journey I have to make will become so much harder. I’m already feeling the weight of it—the exhaustion, the worry. The thought of traveling in my second or third stage of pregnancy, with everything going on, is too much. I’m scared, Hayley. I need to go, and I need to go now.
Gar’s credits are already spent. I know what you might be thinking—why didn’t I wait for you to get back? But if I wait for you, it might be too late. How am I supposed to make the trip after the baby is born? I haven’t got the credits and neither does Gar. This position we’re in, it’s financially, now or never. If you choose to stay in Firetown, I won’t blame you, but I’ll be gone before you have the chance to find me again.
Please know that, no matter where I go, you will always be my sister. I know you love me and I love you. I know your going to say we can raise this baby together without Gar but I want Gar and I and our child to be a family. Like our family used to be. I am afraid if I wait you will also try and maybe succeed at talking me out of this whole thing. You’ll say you can make the money with your abilities and looks. I don’t want you to talk me out of this. You can choose to come later if you want, but right now, I have to leave. I’m sorry for all of this, and I can only hope you understand the urgency, the necessity, of this decision.
I will miss you, and I pray that you find your own way out of Firetown someday.
Your sister, always,
Jenni
The raucous noise from nearby taverns and back alleys created a cacophony that made it easier for Serana, Hayley, and Warlock to slip through the streets unnoticed.
The trio moved quickly, their footsteps barely audible over the din of the town’s nightlife. Serana, dressed in her dark, practical clothing, her paramedic’s backpack slung over one shoulder, led the way. She was calm, purposeful, and every step she took seemed calculated, trained by years of experience saving lives in both wilderness and disaster zones. Her sharp eyes scanned the area constantly, taking in every detail, looking for signs of injury—something to indicate that a D-Bee might be in need of help.
Warlock, his long coat brushing the dirty pavement as he walked, was the most serene of the three. His demeanor was always calm, even in the darkest situations.
Then there was Hayley, walking behind them with her usual impatient expression. She was constantly checking over her shoulder, eyes darting back and forth, eager to leave this place and return to her search for her sister, Jenni. Her mind and heart were consumed by the thought of Jenni, the only family she had left. The weight of the task ahead hung heavily on her, but for Hayley, it was always about what ‘she’ needed, not about the lives of others.
“Serana,” Hayley muttered, barely able to keep the irritation from her voice, “What if Jenni’s—”
Serana stopped mid-step, turning to face Hayley. Her expression was hard but not unkind, her gaze steady and unflinching. “Jenni isn’t the only one whose life could be in danger tonight,” she said firmly, the weight of her words sinking in. “In exchange for helping you find her, you need to help ‘others’ now.”
Hayley opened her mouth to argue, but Serana’s gaze cut her off. There was a quiet urgency in the air. The D-Bees didn’t have the luxury of time; they didn’t have the chance to wait for help like the human citizens of Firetown. They were being hunted, oppressed, and forgotten, and it was Serana’s mission to offer what aid she could.
Warlock, who had been silently observing, spoke up, his voice calm, but carrying a weight of experience. “Serana’s right, Hayley. We are all part of the web of life, the web of health, and the care we provide here is a reflection of that greater truth. If we can help them, we must. The bigger picture calls for it.”
Hayley let out a long breath, her frustration momentarily visible, but she nodded. “Fine. I’ll help. But after this, we’re back to searching for Jenni, right?”
Serana nodded once. “We’ll go back to it. But right now, we help.”
The three of them moved onward. Serana led the way with the night-vision of her cyber-eye. She was looking for signs of injury, any indication that someone was in need of immediate care.
There was a quiet rustling in one of the narrow side streets. Serana’s ears perked. Without hesitation, she signaled for the group to stop. They approached the alley cautiously, Warlock scanning the area with his usual serenity, while Hayley, though reluctant, kept her eyes on the shadows, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
In the alley, partially hidden by a stack of crates, was a D-Bee—a small, wiry figure, crumpled in pain, clutching at their side, blood seeping through their fingers. Serana’s heart quickened, but she kept her composure. She pulled the medical backpack off her shoulder with swift efficiency, her hands already moving to prepare the supplies she would need.
“We don’t have much time,” Serana said, her voice urgent but steady. She knelt beside the D-Bee, inspecting the wound. “Hayley, help me lift them up. Warlock, can you keep watch? This could be a trap.”
Hayley, still distracted by the thought of her sister, hesitated but then quickly stepped forward, her hands grabbing at the D-Bee’s shoulders, helping Serana move the injured figure into a more stable position.
Warlock glanced around, his eyes taking in every detail, sensing the bigger picture even in the chaos of the moment. He nodded and moved to the end of the alley, standing guard, watching for any signs of danger.
Serana worked quickly, using her psionic powers to treat the D-Bee’s wounds. The power of her psychic healing is universal. It healed all regardless of where they were from or how they were put together biologically. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered to the injured D-Bee, even though she couldn’t guarantee it. But Serana always spoke with the confidence of someone who refused to let anyone slip away if there was a chance to save them. Handing the D-Bee some food, they left.
Hayley, her impatience clearly visible in her clenched fists, finally spoke. “Can we hurry up? Jenni’s still out there.”
Serana, keeping her focus on the task, looked up at Hayley. “You’re doing this, Hayley, and you’re going to keep doing it. You’re saving lives, and that’s more important than anything else. Now pass me your inner strength so I can heal another.”
Hayley swallowed hard, biting back the urge to protest. She wasn’t the type to dwell on others, but the weight of Serana’s words stayed with her, grounding her in the moment.
After the D-Bee led them to a few more D-Bees whose injuries needed healing. Serana nodded to herself, relieved that the immediate danger had passed. She turned to Hayley and Warlock, her expression serious.
---
Serana eyes scanning every corner, every movement, while the injured D-Bee carefully ate the food she had given them.
Serana knew Burbs aren’t kind to those who didn’t fit the image of "acceptable.” D-Bees are often easy targets for theft or violence. Tonight, the D-Bee in front of her was no exception, injured and vulnerable, with no safety net but the small group they form; usually of their own “kind.”
She kept her body between the D-Bee and the narrow alley, positioning herself to ensure no one could sneak up on them. With a firm hand, she handed over small portions of food, what little she had been able to gather earlier in the day. Every mouthful mattered. She stood tall, a silent sentinel, watching the D-Bee eat. Each bite was precious, and Serana wasn’t going to let anyone take that away.
Her eyes flicked back to the end of the alley where the Warlock stood, a quiet sentinel in his own right. His magic is subtle, but powerful. He was conjuring clean water for the D-Bees—free, untainted water, flowing from his hands in a gentle stream that shimmered with a soft, ethereal glow. The magic didn’t just heal; it nourished, offering something far more than just survival—it offered a sense of dignity, something these D-Bees hadn’t known in a long time.
The Warlock’s calm voice broke the silence. “It’s not much, but it’s enough for now.” He held the water with ease, his hands glowing faintly in the low light. He made a quick motion and another stream of water appeared, filling the tin cups Serana had scavenged earlier.
The D-Bee—an older figure, clearly exhausted and barely holding on—paused between bites, his large eyes looking up at Serana in gratitude. The food, simple as it was, seemed to give him strength. Serana’s face remained neutral, though her heart ached for him. She could see the suffering in his gaunt frame, the way his hands trembled as he took each bite, as though unsure whether he deserved the comfort of the food at all.
“You’re safe for now,” Serana said softly, though her eyes never wavered from their surroundings. She couldn’t afford to look away. The shadows held too many dangers.
The other D-Bees around them, a group of four or five, sat a bit further back, keeping their heads low, cautious. They, too, had been fed—some of them slowly but steadily consuming what little food Serana had left. The 60 pounds of food had quickly dwindled, but Serana made sure each one had something. None would go hungry while she could help.
Her hand hovered near her belt, where a small knife was sheathed—just a precaution. The eyes of Firetown could be cold and hungry. She wouldn’t let anyone take this small bit of kindness from the D-Bees, not tonight.
There were no sounds of movement for a while—just the soft noises of eating, the quiet hum of Warlock’s magic in the background, and the occasional whisper of wind through the alleyway. Still, Serana’s senses were heightened. She watched the edge of the alley, waiting for someone to make their move.
As one of the D-Bees reached for a second helping, a rustle came from the far corner of the alley. Serana’s body went rigid, and she stood slightly taller, her back straight, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t sure what was coming—whether it was a local D-Bee thug looking for food or worse, a group coming to steal from the weaker—but she wasn’t about to let it happen.
Warlock’s magic stopped flowing as he sensed the shift in the air. He glanced over, his face unreadable, then whispered, “Hold steady. No one here will take what’s not theirs tonight.”
Serana nodded. She didn’t need to say anything more. The unspoken truth was clear: they weren’t just standing guard over the food—they were standing guard over the D-Bees while they ate it, so no one could take it from them.
The moment stretched, and then, as if the threat had never been, the rustling stopped. Serana didn’t lower her guard, but she could tell that their attention had shifted elsewhere. There would be no confrontation tonight.
Warlock resumed his magic, offering the D-Bees the last of his water, and Serana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“We have a few minutes left,” Serana said, her voice more practical now, with none of the tension of before. “Drink up, eat what you can. We have to go.”
She gave a nod to Warlock, who gave a silent nod back, watching the D-Bees with the same solemn respect. They weren’t just patients; they were individuals, each with their own story, their own struggles. They deserved better than this world had given them.
As the last of the food was eaten and the cups were emptied, Serana glanced one final time at the faces around her. It wasn’t much, but in that small, fleeting moment, they had all found a little bit of safety, a little bit of dignity. Serana’s heart was heavy with what was still to come—the lives that wouldn’t be saved, the battles that couldn’t be fought—but for tonight, this was enough.
The Warlock offered one last silent look of understanding before Serana motioned for Hayley to move. There was no time to waste. Jenni was still out there, after all.
The three of them slipped back into the darkness, shadows in the night, leaving behind only the faint traces of kindness they had offered. The D-Bees were left to finish their food in peace, unaware of the world they had just briefly entered—one where there were still people willing to help, even for a fleeting moment.
As they vanished into the alley’s depths, Serana’s mind raced, wondering if there was any way to give the D-Bees in Fire-town more than this—more than just scraps and fleeting kindness. But for now, this would have to be enough.
---
Location: Firetown apartment building. Jenni’s place.
The small hallway of the building smelled faintly of mildew and old wood. The walls, cracked and faded with age, seemed to echo with every footstep as Serana approached the landlord’s apartment. She had some idea what she’d find inside, but Jenni’s pregnancy, the absence of a message to her younger sister Hayley, and the way the landlord burst into Jenni’s apartment weighed heavily on her mind.
She had been searching the apartment with a mix of urgency and curiosity but tonight felt different. They were things unexplained the Serana wanted answers to.
Serana knocked softly on the landlord’s door, her eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway. The man inside wasn’t someone she trusted—not by any means—but the way he came and went from Jenni's apartment demanding rent was to easy familar for him. Also, the way he looked at Hayley while she was wrapped in a towel was... If he knew anything about Jenni’s disappearance, he would have to be coaxed into revealing it.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing the landlord. A grizzled man with unkempt hair and a worn-out face, his eyes darted nervously as he saw Serana standing there, her posture composed, her gaze steady.
The landlord muttered, his voice gruff and guarded. “What do you want?”
Lady Serana said, her tone polite but firm, “I wanted to ask if you’ve been in Jenni’s apartment for any reason recently.”
The landlord’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his hand instinctively went to the doorframe as if to block her view. The silence between them stretched for a beat too long, and Serana noticed his body tense, as though he were preparing for something.
“I—I’ve been in there, yeah,” he said, his words slow and careful, a little too rehearsed. “But it’s not like that... Just checking on things. The place wasn’t in great shape when she left, and I had to make sure it wasn’t falling apart.”
Serana’s gaze didn’t waver. She could see right through the man.
His story didn’t hold up. Jenni’s apartment wasn’t in disrepair—at least, not enough to warrant him going inside without reason. Serana pressed on, her voice calm but edged with the authority that came from years of dealing with stubborn people.
“Did you go through her things?” she asked, the words sharp.
The landlord swallowed, a flicker of guilt… No fear. It passed across his face. His fingers fidgeted at the door frame, and for a moment, Serana thought he might just shut the door in her face.
“I took a look,” he muttered, his voice low, trying to avoid her gaze. “She didn’t pay the rent the day it was due. I had to make sure she wasn’t hiding out. Maybe... I might have let my eyes wander to see IF something was laying around to cover the rent, you know?”
Serana kept her eyes fixed on him. She knew this man was no stranger to petty theft.
“You took something, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice cold now, the empathy fading.
The landlord’s gaze flickered, his eyes darting to the side.
“It is my job… to clean out the tenants who can’t pay the rent, and clean out their possessions too. Maybe some of it can be sold for something. Waste not want not.” He glanced nervously at Serana.
Serana’s jaw clenched, the frustration clear in her eyes. She stepped closer to him, her posture calm, but her words heavy with the weight of anger. “If you have something of Jenni’s, you need to return it to Hayley.”
The landlord recoiled slightly, but then quickly regained his composure, his voice taking on a defensive tone. “Hey, I’m not asking for trouble. I’m just saying, if you want anything else from Jenni’s place, it’s gonna cost you. You want it back? You’ll pay in credits... or... something else.”
Serana’s eyes narrowed, but she remained calm. “Something else?” she repeated, her voice soft, as though testing the words, as though she could feel the truth in them already. “What are you implying?”
The landlord looked uncomfortable now, his hand running through his disheveled hair. He hesitated, clearly weighing the consequences of his words. “I... I figure, if you want what’s hers, maybe you can trade me for it. Service of the flesh, you know? I’m not saying it’s the only way, but... well, that’s how the world works around here.”
Lady Serana remained composed, her voice cold and measured.
“You’re trying to randsom Jenni’s things, and you think I’ll just let it go?” Her hand tightened at her side, her body poised to strike—but she held herself in check, not letting her anger take over.
The landlord seemed to shrink under her gaze, his previous bravado fading. “I wasn’t gonna tell Hayley, you know,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor. “She pays the rent. On time. Nice to look at too. Better looking than Jenni. No boyfriend. Works at that strip club. She's got a good thing going here. Why mess that up? If she goes off on some risky chance to find her sister something bad could happen. She's safe here with people who appreciate her for who she is. But if you want anything from me, I’ll take my payment.”
Serana took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was aware of the thin line she was walking—between maintaining control and making a move she might regret. But she couldn’t let this man get away with this. A Cyber-Knight uses violence, when necessary, for justice and defense; not revenge. Victims of intimidation and violence often do to others what was done to them. The landlord fantasizes that he has a chance with Hayley or at least wants her to stay around.
“You’ll return everything you’ve taken,” she said, her voice low but certain. “If you don’t, I will make sure Hayley knows exactly what you’ve been doing. And that’s something you won’t want. Understand?”
The landlord nodded quickly, swallowing hard as he realized the gravity of what he’d just walked into. His bravado had been an illusion. With Serana standing before him, it crumbled quickly.
“Yeah... yeah, I understand. I’ll get it back to you,” he said, his voice shaking.
Serana flexed her muscles, her gaze unwavering. “Take them now. Make sure it’s all there, and make sure it’s returned in one piece.”
The recording:
From Jenni to Hayley
Hayley,
I don’t know where you are, and I can’t get a hold of you. I hope this recording finds you somehow, but I fear the worst. Gar sent some of his friends to find me. But his men are being hunted, now by thieves or the Coalition. They’ve told me that, due to finances, we have to leave now or never. I'm going to New Lazlo to be with Gar. He's the father of my child and I want, I need him to be there when are baby is born.
I know you’re probably angry, confused, or hurt by this. And I hate myself for doing this to you, but I’m asking you to please understand the enormous pressure I’m under. I just found out I’m pregnant. I haven’t got the money to leave later and I’m barely getting by as it is. And if I don’t leave now, if I wait any longer, the journey I have to make will become so much harder. I’m already feeling the weight of it—the exhaustion, the worry. The thought of traveling in my second or third stage of pregnancy, with everything going on, is too much. I’m scared, Hayley. I need to go, and I need to go now.
Gar’s credits are already spent. I know what you might be thinking—why didn’t I wait for you to get back? But if I wait for you, it might be too late. How am I supposed to make the trip after the baby is born? I haven’t got the credits and neither does Gar. This position we’re in, it’s financially, now or never. If you choose to stay in Firetown, I won’t blame you, but I’ll be gone before you have the chance to find me again.
Please know that, no matter where I go, you will always be my sister. I know you love me and I love you. I know your going to say we can raise this baby together without Gar but I want Gar and I and our child to be a family. Like our family used to be. I am afraid if I wait you will also try and maybe succeed at talking me out of this whole thing. You’ll say you can make the money with your abilities and looks. I don’t want you to talk me out of this. You can choose to come later if you want, but right now, I have to leave. I’m sorry for all of this, and I can only hope you understand the urgency, the necessity, of this decision.
I will miss you, and I pray that you find your own way out of Firetown someday.
Your sister, always,
Jenni
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: Firetown, "The Camp" orphanage.
Evelyn’s Diary Entry
Subject: Artemis & The Warlock
It seems fate is determined to test my convictions this week.
After all these years, Artemis still looks the same—calm, kind, radiating that impossible warmth that puts even the most broken children at ease. The kids flocked to her the moment she stepped through the door, squealing with joy, clinging to her arms, peppering her with a hundred questions. I don’t know if they see her as an older sister or a second mother, but the love they have for her is real. And that matters.
She did not come alone.
She brought ‘him’.
The Warlock.
Seeing him next to Artemis, the contrast is striking. Where she is effortlessly graceful, he moves with the weight of age, his hands rough from a lifetime of work. Where she heals the body, he repairs the world around it—different skills, same purpose.
He is quiet, but not withdrawn. When the children spoke to him, he listened. He did not talk down to them, nor did he put on the false cheerfulness that adults use when they think kids are too fragile for the truth.
His magic is still unsettlingly subtle. I watched him fix a cracked window frame with barely a motion. If I had blinked, I might not have seen the shift at all. There was no grand display, no wasted effort. Just fixing what was broken.
He follows Artemis’s lead. I’ve seen enough partnerships to know when two people trust each other. He defers to her in conversations. When she offered to cover for me, he simply nodded, as if the decision had already been made.
They offered me twelve hours away from this place—a luxury I have not indulged in since the last time Artemis was here and gifted me 2 weeks off.
Artemis covering for me alone, I might have accepted without hesitation. But Warlock?
The Vanguard in me tells me this is foolish. I should not leave a magic user alone in my orphanage, surrounded by children. Magic is unpredictable. Magic is dangerous.
But I have already made my decision not to report him.
And the truth is, I am exhausted.
I have been exhausted for years.
This orphanage is my life. I eat here, I sleep here, I watch over the children as though they were my own.
But I am only human.
I tell myself I can keep going, that I do not need rest, that the children need me more than I need sleep or peace. And yet... Artemis sees through me.
She always has.
I could fight this. I could refuse out of pride or caution.
But the reality is, I trust her.
And if she trusts him, I will extend the same courtesy.
I will take the twelve hours off.
I will sleep for eight hours first—actual, real, uninterrupted sleep.
Then while they care for the orphanage, for the first time in years, I will step outside of this place with no responsibilities for a few hours. I don’t even know what I will do with that time, but I will take it.
If anything goes wrong, I will know soon enough.
But I do not believe it will.
— Evelyn
---
Meanwhile, Hayley, having no need to stay in Jenni’s apartment (since Jenni is not coming back) is moving out. Her thoughts are that she will have to follow her sister wherever she goes until she finds her. She wants to be there for her sister when the child is born. Hayley assumes that her life is going to be in New Lazlo if that is where her sister Jenni is going to move. Regardless, Hayley sees the need to travel light. She moves many of her things, and Jenni’s things, to the orphanage and gifts the orphanage. The rest of her plan is to make one more night’s money at, “The Fire Pole.”
---
The kitchen is immaculate, thanks to Warlock’s steam-cleaning before. For the first time in years, the morning air did not carry the scent of old grease or faintly burnt oatmeal. The polished counters gleamed under the dim lights, and the stone floor was spotless beneath their boots.
Lady Serana / Artemis stretched her arms above her head, rolling out her shoulders. “Alright, Warlock, 100 kids, one meal. I’ve handled worse.”
Warlock, already by the massive iron stove, cracked his knuckles, the motion slow and deliberate. “But out on the trail, they don’t demand pancakes.”
Serana smirked. “Then it’s a good thing we’re making something better.”
The Cooking Begins
Miss Evelyn’s usual breakfast was oatmeal—a meal designed for efficiency, not joy. It was filling, reliable, easy to make in bulk. But Artemis had other plans.
She had foraged markets and supply bins, gathering what she could without making it look suspicious. She had flour, eggs, milk (or something close enough), butter, salt, a small stash of honey, and even dried fruit.
Flat-Cakes with berry syrup. Fried eggs. Roasted potatoes. Something warm and hearty for growing kids.
Warlock measured ingredients with the precision of an old carpenter, muttering under his breath.
“Too much flour, the batter thickens. Too little, it runs like water.”
“I thought you weren’t a master chef,” Artemis teased.
He gave her a look. “I know how to measure things.”
She grinned, but didn’t argue. Instead, she chopped potatoes with swift, practiced motions, tossing them into a massive iron skillet over the flames. The scent of sizzling butter and crisping potatoes immediately filled the kitchen.
Cooking for 100 is not like cooking for 10.
The fire roared hot, requiring Warlock to adjust the flames constantly, ensuring nothing burned.
The batter had to be mixed in batches, leading to flour dust floating in the air like fog.
Eggs sizzled and popped, some sticking to the pan, some flipped a little too aggressively.
And yet—it worked.
The trail-hardened duo fell into a natural rhythm:
The Warlock monitored the fires, cooked, and flipped the flatcakes with methodical precision.
Lady Serana handled chopping, mixing, and taste-testing, ensuring the flavors balanced.
They took turns adjusting the heat, wiping spills, and keeping an eye on the orphans peeking into the kitchen.
By the time the first wave of plates was ready, the orphans had begun to gather, noses twitching at the unfamiliar, delightful scent.
-Breakfast Time-
The first child to hesitantly take a bite was a boy named Ren, one of the older kids—pragmatic, skeptical, not one to be impressed. He lifted a flatcake with suspicion, sniffed it, then took a small bite.
His chewing slowed.
Then his eyes widened.
“… It’s sweet.”
That was all it took.
The moment he grabbed another bite, a stampede of hungry orphans descended upon the food tables.
Children’s laughter filled the air as they eagerly devoured their meals.
Flatcakes disappeared in seconds, some eaten plain, others drizzled with precious honey.
Eggs and potatoes were shoveled onto plates, the savory contrast to the slightly sweet flatcakes making it an instant favorite.
A few younger children smeared honey across their faces, looking far too pleased with themselves.
One of the younger girls, a tiny thing with braids, ran up to Warlock and tugged at his sleeve.
“This is way better than Miss Evelyn’s oatmeal.”
The Warlock gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. “Oatmeal has its place.”
“Yeah, in the garbage,” another child chimed in, before running off.
Serana covered her laugh with a cough.
---
The Aftermath
After the chaos, once the last child had scraped their plate clean, Warlock and Artemis surveyed the battlefield of the kitchen.
Sticky plates. Flour-covered countertops. A few stray eggshells. A mess—but not a disaster.
Artemis exhaled. “Not bad for a couple of travelers, huh?”
Warlock simply grunted in agreement, rolling up his sleeves to begin the cleanup.
As Serana wiped down the counters, she paused to glance toward the orphanage doors—where Miss Evelyn was finally, truly, SLEEPING IN for the first time in weeks.
She smiled. This was worth it.
This was worth all of it.
---
The dining area had been cleared of plates and wiped clean, the scent of breakfast still lingering in the air. The orphans, now content and full, eagerly gathered around as Artemis took her place at the front of the room, holding a thick, well-worn book in her hands.
“Alright, everyone,” she said, settling onto a chair as the kids sat cross-legged on the floor. “Today, we’re going on an adventure.”
A ripple of excitement ran through the group. Some of the older kids, trying to act too cool to care, leaned against the walls—but their eyes betrayed curiosity.
She opened the book, its leather binding cracked from years of use.
“The tale of The Lost City of Ironvale,” she announced, “where heroes search for treasure hidden beneath the ruins of a kingdom swallowed by the earth. But beware—there are secrets lurking in the darkness.”
The orphans leaned in closer.
Serana began reading, her voice weaving through the room like music—smooth, captivating, bringing the words to life.
As the story progressed, she paused in key moments, passing the book to a child.
“Your turn, Rina.”
A timid girl took the book, hesitated for a second, then slowly read the next paragraph aloud. The kids listened. No teasing, no mocking—only support.
Serana nodded in encouragement. “Great work. So, what do we think about the prince leaving his kingdom behind? Was it cowardly, or was he forced to do it?”
A boy immediately raised his hand. “Cowardly! He should’ve stayed and fought!”
Another child shook his head. “No way. He didn’t have a choice!”
A discussion broke out, kids voicing their thoughts, agreeing, arguing, thinking critically. Artemis grinned. That’s what this was about—engaging their minds, making them think, helping them find their own voices.
The Warlock, standing off to the side, arms crossed, observed quietly.
He didn’t say a word, but when a boy fumbled on a word, looking frustrated, Warlock unceremoniously knelt beside him and traced the word on the table with his finger. The boy’s eyes lit up with understanding, and he finished the sentence without hesitation.
Serana saw it. She didn’t say anything.
But she smiled.
---
Outdoor Adventures
The orphans exploded into the yard, laughing, shouting, running in every direction. Artemis led the charge, energy boundless, moving as fast as the kids despite being twice their age.
The first activity: relay races.
Teams formed, kids strategized, and the competitive energy filled the air.
Some sprinted like lightning, while others struggled but kept going.
The rules were simple: Move fast, have fun, don’t cheat—or the Warlock will see you.
(He would, too. His watchful gaze caught every attempt at sneaky shortcuts, and his stern eyebrow raise alone was enough to make any guilty child slink back into place.)
Next, an obstacle course—built from barrels, crates, and ropes.
Serana climbed, ducked, and leaped through it first, making it look fun rather than a chore.
“Think you can beat me?” she grinned, hands on her hips.
The challenge was too good to resist.
They raced through the course, some kids falling, some getting stuck, but everyone helping each other.
The Warlock didn’t run the course—but when one of the smaller kids got tangled in the rope climb, he wordlessly lifted them up, setting them gently on the other side.
(He claimed it was efficiency, not kindness. No one believed him.)
By the end, the kids were breathless, sweaty, grinning ear to ear. Some flopped onto the grass, exhausted but satisfied.
“That…” gasped one of the older boys, lying on his back, staring at the sky, “was the best morning ever.”
Serana laughed. “Just wait. We’re not done yet.”
---
The orphans scattered across the main hall, choosing their activities.
Drawing. Painting. Crafting. Block-building. Each child picked their medium, settling into quiet, focused work.
A group of young artists dipped brushes into small paint jars, covering papers with bright, uneven strokes.
Others worked with scraps of fabric, thread, and twine, making patchwork dolls, tiny figures, and strange contraptions.
Block towers rose on one side of the room, as a competition quietly formed to see who could build the tallest, most stable structure.
The Warlock had somehow been roped into the block-building.
He didn’t participate at first—only watching. But when a frustrated child groaned as their tower collapsed for the third time, Warlock wordlessly knelt beside them, adjusted the base structure, and handed them another block.
The child hesitated… then tried again.
This time, the tower held.
(Within minutes, Warlock became the unofficial "block-building consultant," nodding in silent approval whenever someone got the angles right.)
On the other side of the room, Serana sat beside a group of painters, chatting with them as she sketched a tree, blending colors with casual skill.
A little girl, watching Serana work, poked her arm.
“Draw me.”
Serana,“You sure? I might not get your best angle.”
The girl giggled. “Just make me pretty.”
Serana grinned. “Kid, you already are.”
She set to work, and soon a small, simple portrait of the girl took shape.
The little one stared at it, wide-eyed. Then, without hesitation, she tackled Artemis in a hug.
Serana froze for a second, caught off guard. Then she laughed, ruffling the girl’s hair.
“Alright, alright, let go before you make me soft.”
---
Hours Pass
The orphanage buzzed with content energy.
The Warlock stretched, rubbing his aching knees. “Children have too much energy.”
Lady Serana smirked. “You’re just old.”
He didn’t argue.
As the children began cleaning up, Miss Evelyn’s footsteps echoed from the upper floor. She had finally woken up.
Serana glanced at The Warlock. “Think she’ll be mad we ruined her precious, predictable schedule?”
The Warlock shrugged. “Depends. Do we tell her the children are happy?”
Serana looked over the laughing, chatting, still-energized kids. She smiled.
“… No. She’ll figure it out herself.”
And with that, they braced for whatever Evelyn would say.
---
The orphanage was still buzzing with excitement from the morning’s activities. The children, still energized from the outdoor games and creative time, lingered in the halls and common areas, chatting and laughing. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Artemis and Warlock are back to work, preparing the midday meal.
---
Serana leaned against the counter, tapping her fingers as she surveyed their supplies.
“Alright, we need something filling, fast, and simple.”
The Warlock stood at the massive iron stove, arms crossed. “Stew.”
Serana grinned. “You read my mind.”
They both had years of experience cooking over campfires, making big meals with simple ingredients. Stew was perfect—nutritious, easy to make in bulk, and impossible to mess up.
As The Warlock set to work chopping vegetables with sharp, precise cuts, Serana started sorting through bread dough, using what little yeast she had to make quick-rise rolls.
---
The Warlock manned the giant stew pot, stirring with a wooden ladle the size of a small weapon.
The stew thickened with potatoes, carrots, beans, and whatever protein they could scrounge up.
Serana kneaded and shaped the bread dough, slapping it into small rolls before setting them into the oven.
The kitchen filled with warmth—the scent of slow-simmered broth and fresh bread rising in the air.
The Warlock checked the stew, tasting a spoonful.
“More salt,” he muttered.
Serana raised an eyebrow. “You actually ‘season’ your food? Shocking.”
He ignored her, adding the salt.
---
By the time the stew was halfway done, the orphans had caught the scent.
From the hallway:
“It smells really good!”
“Is that fresh bread?”
“It’s not oatmeal, right?!”
Serana peeked out of the kitchen, grinning. “It’s not oatmeal!”
A cheer erupted.
Warlock sighed. “Children are loud.”
---
By the time lunch was ready, Artemis tore open the oven, revealing golden brown rolls, soft and warm inside, crisp on the edges.
Warlock ladled the thick, steaming stew into wide bowls, placing a fresh roll beside each serving.
One by one, the orphans lined up, receiving their bowls with eager hands and wide eyes.
The first taste was met with silence.
Then:
“This is amazing!”
“It’s thick! It’s not watery like soup!”
“The bread is warm! It’s real bread!”
Warlock took a slow sip of his own bowl, nodding in approval.
Artemis leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the kids devour their food.
“You know,” she said, “for two travelers who usually eat burnt trail rations, we make a damn fine meal.”
Warlock chewed his bread thoughtfully. “Could be worse.”
Artemis chuckled. High praise.
As the last of the orphans finished their meals, bellies full and spirits high, Artemis wiped her hands clean and stretched.
“Alright,” she said, grinning at Warlock. “One meal down. How many more before Miss Evelyn reclaims her throne?”
Warlock sighed, staring at the empty bowls.
“… Too many.”
And with that, they braced themselves for the next round.
---
With lunch finished and bellies full, the day was far from over. Warlock and Artemis divided their efforts, focusing on teaching, chores, and bonding—ensuring that the kids had fun while learning practical skills.
---
The Warlock led the orphans into the common area, where a long wooden table had been cleared for educational activities.
“Knowledge,” he said, his deep voice carrying a quiet authority, “is a tool. If you know how to use it, you will never be useless.”
The older kids nodded, intrigued. The younger ones just stared, waiting to see what he meant.
He spread handmade wooden puzzles across the table—some were shape-based, some logic-based, some riddles.
He created matching games for the younger kids, testing their memory and pattern recognition.
For awe and excitement, he used simple chemistry tricks—showing them how baking soda and vinegar reacted, how different materials conducted heat, and how plants absorbed water with food coloring experiments.
The children were engaged, eager to participate, to figure out the solutions.
Warlock rarely praised openly, but when a child solved a problem on their own, he would nod approvingly and say, “Good. You thought before you acted."
For him, that was high praise.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the room, Artemis had lined up a row of kids, her hands on her hips.
“Alright, listen up,” she said, grinning mischievously. “Who here thinks math is boring?”
A few hands shot up.
“Wrong answer,” she said playfully. “Math is everywhere. You like playing games? You like buying sweets at the market? You like knowing how many slices of pie you can steal before Miss Evelyn catches you?”
The kids laughed.
“Then you like math.”
She spent the next hour teaching them basic addition, subtraction, and fractions through games and real-life examples:
Guessing the weight of different objects.
Calculating how much food to serve if 10 kids each got 3 rolls.
Playing “math relay” races, where they had to solve an equation before running to the next marker.
By the end, the kids were laughing, learning, and competing—without even realizing they were practicing math.
---
With learning wrapped up, Artemis clapped her hands together.
“Alright, geniuses. Time for the real test—keeping this place livable.”
There were groans, of course, but she and Warlock knew how to make it engaging.
The Older Kids: Handled laundry, sweeping, and neating up.
The Middle-Aged Kids: Helped set the dinner table, folded linens, and dusted shelves.
The Youngest Kids: Had “important jobs” like wiping down tables and making their beds.
To keep it fun, Artemis turned it into a challenge:
Who could fold clothes the fastest?
Who could set the table without breaking anything?
Who could make their beds neat enough to impress Warlock?
(Spoiler: Warlock never looked impressed. Even when the beds were perfect, he would just grunt, “Acceptable.” But the kids loved earning his silent approval.)
Artemis, however, was more open with praise, ruffling hair, giving high-fives, and making sure every effort was noticed.
By the end, the orphanage was tidy, the kids proud of their work, and everyone felt like they had contributed.
---
After a long day of activity, the kids needed a last meal.
The Warlock prepared the main dish, a savory stir-fry with meat, vegetables, and a rich sauce.
Artemis handled the rice, making sure it was fluffy and perfect.
By the time dinner was served, the orphans rushed to the tables, eager to eat.
“This…” one of the older boys said between bites, “is the best day we’ve ever had.”
Artemis smirked. “Every meal can be like this if you stop giving Miss Evelyn a hard time.”
Some of the kids laughed. Others looked genuinely thoughtful.
Warlock just ate in silence, though he was clearly pleased with the outcome.
---
With the chores done, dinner finished, and the day winding down, it was finally time to relax.
Artemis pulled out her smart-phone, a sleek piece of pre-rift technology. With a few swipes, she projected a movie onto the orphanage’s largest wall, creating a glowing, colorful display that fascinated the children.
The orphans gathered on the floor, piling into makeshift cushions, blankets, and each other, eagerly awaiting the start.
Warlock, sitting off to the side, leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“What’s this one called?” he asked.
Artemis smirked. “A classic. The Lost Sky-Kingdom.”
A great kids' adventure movie, full of:
Airships
Daring heroes
A hidden city in the clouds
Villains defeated by teamwork and clever thinking
The moment it started, the room was silent except for the movie.
Some of the youngest kids clung to Artemis, nestling against her shoulder. A few older kids sat near Warlock, who—though he remained stoic—did not move them away.
For the next two hours, the orphanage was at peace.
---
As the movie faded to credits, Artemis stretched her arms above her head. “Alright, little troublemakers—off to bed!”
There were a few groans, but no real resistance. The day had been full, and the kids were exhausted.
One by one, they trudged off to their rooms, yawning, but happy.
Once they were gone, Artemis sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.
“That,” she admitted, “was a long day.”
Warlock, sitting in his usual place, took a slow sip of tea he had prepared.
He nodded.
She grinned. “Admit it. You had fun.”
Warlock didn’t answer.
Instead, he simply said, “They’re good kids.”
Artemis’s smile softened. “Yeah,” she said, glancing toward the orphanage halls. “They really are.”
As the night settled over the orphanage, the two sat in comfortable silence, knowing that, for today, they had done something good for the kids and Miss Evelyn a day off..
“To think Evelyn has to do this every day."
---
The halls of the orphanage were quiet now, the last echoes of laughter and conversation fading as the children settled into their beds. The warm glow of lantern light flickered against the old wooden walls, casting long, gentle shadows.
Artemis moved from room to room, tucking in the youngest children, pulling blankets snug, and whispering soft goodnights.
She had done this before. Years ago.
But back then, it was only for a month. This time, it was different. She wasn’t just a visitor anymore. She was listening.
As she reached the third room, a group of four children—Ren, Lila, Thom, and Bea—were still wide awake.
“Miss Artemis,” Bea whispered as she sat up, her braids a tangled mess from rolling around in bed.
Artemis smirked. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“But we always tell stories before bed,” Lila said, pulling her blanket up to her chin.
Ren, the older, sharper-eyed boy, grinned. “And we tell Miss Evelyn all sorts of things she finds useful.”
Artemis/Lady Serana, “Useful, huh?” she said lightly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Like what?”
The kids perked up, eager to share.
Thom, the smallest of the group, leaned forward conspiratorially. “We saw two Coalition officers walking around the market yesterday. One of them was asking about new faces.”
Lila nodded excitedly. “And remember the man with the metal arm? The one who always buys from Old Marta’s stall? He was hiding something under his coat this time!”
Serena’s smile never faltered, but her mind was suddenly racing.
She had worked with plenty of informants before—from resistance groups to outlaws, from psychics who read minds to rebels who lived in the gutters.
But these weren’t trained spies.
They are children.
Yet… they were good at it. Too good. Eager. Sharp. Aware.
She thought back to the morning, to the way the kids had casually mentioned “new people in town” to her and Warlock over breakfast. She had assumed it was normal chatter. But now… Now she saw the pattern.
Miss Evelyn—calm, disciplined, unwavering Evelyn—had turned these orphans into an information network.
Not trained agents. Not spies. But watchers. Listeners. Observers.
Lady Selana swallowed down the discomfort creeping up her spine.
Because, in a way… it made perfect sense.
No one suspects children.
They hear things that adults ignore.
They remember things that no one thinks to hide.
And Evelyn wouldn’t put them in direct danger. That much, Serena believed.
But still…
Serana looked at them—wide-eyed, innocent, excited to be “useful.”
This was their normal.
And that… bothered her.
---
She decided to push—just a little.
“Miss Evelyn must love hearing all these things,” Lady Serana said casually. “She must be so proud of how helpful you all are.”
Bea nodded immediately. “She always listens really carefully.”
Ren smirked. “And she never says much. She just thinks for a bit, and then—poof! She knows what to do.”
Thom beamed. “She says knowing things is how we stay safe.”
Serana exhaled slowly.
Of course she does.
She couldn’t even argue with that logic. Knowledge is survival.
But these kids… they were learning something else, too.
How to seewithout being seen.
How to report without seeming like snitches.
How to be useful in ways no one noticed.
It was clever.
It was practical.
And it was so damn Evelyn.
---
She had a decision to make.
She could bring this up to Evelyn tomorrow. Confront her. Challenge her. Ask her when she started doing this, why she started doing this, if she ever thought about the weight it put on these kids.
But then…
She thought of Evelyn herself.
How tired she always looked but never showed weakness.
How she carried this orphanage on her back, protecting these kids in ways they would never even realize.
How she never asked for help. Never wavered.
She thought of the Coalition officers sniffing around town.
She thought of the dangers in the Burbs—the crime, the things that preyed on the weak.
She thought of how alone Evelyn was in all of this.
And Serana realized…
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t even disappointed.
She was just… sad.
Sad that this was necessary.
Sad that Evelyn had no other choice but to rely on these kids to keep them all safe.
Sad that the world forced her to do it.
And Lady Serana knew, deep down, that if she were in Evelyn’s place… she might have done the same.
---
Serana let out a soft breath and smiled down at the kids.
“You know,” she said gently, ruffling Thom’s hair, “Miss Evelyn is lucky to have all of you watching out for her.”
The kids beamed with pride.
Serana’s chest tightened.
No, she thought. It’s the other way around. You don’t even realize how lucky you are to have her.
She tucked them in, pulling their blankets up tight.
“Sleep now,” she murmured. “Even the best watchers need rest.”
They snuggled into their beds, still whispering softly to one another, content and safe in their own world.
Serana stood up, watching them for just a moment longer.
Then she turned and walked out, her face unreadable, her mind still turning over what she had learned.
---
As Serana stepped into the quiet hallway, she sighed and muttered to herself.
“Evelyn… what the hell have you become?”
She already knew the answer.
She just wasn’t sure if she admired it…
Or hated it.
Evelyn’s Diary Entry
Subject: Artemis & The Warlock
It seems fate is determined to test my convictions this week.
After all these years, Artemis still looks the same—calm, kind, radiating that impossible warmth that puts even the most broken children at ease. The kids flocked to her the moment she stepped through the door, squealing with joy, clinging to her arms, peppering her with a hundred questions. I don’t know if they see her as an older sister or a second mother, but the love they have for her is real. And that matters.
She did not come alone.
She brought ‘him’.
The Warlock.
Seeing him next to Artemis, the contrast is striking. Where she is effortlessly graceful, he moves with the weight of age, his hands rough from a lifetime of work. Where she heals the body, he repairs the world around it—different skills, same purpose.
He is quiet, but not withdrawn. When the children spoke to him, he listened. He did not talk down to them, nor did he put on the false cheerfulness that adults use when they think kids are too fragile for the truth.
His magic is still unsettlingly subtle. I watched him fix a cracked window frame with barely a motion. If I had blinked, I might not have seen the shift at all. There was no grand display, no wasted effort. Just fixing what was broken.
He follows Artemis’s lead. I’ve seen enough partnerships to know when two people trust each other. He defers to her in conversations. When she offered to cover for me, he simply nodded, as if the decision had already been made.
They offered me twelve hours away from this place—a luxury I have not indulged in since the last time Artemis was here and gifted me 2 weeks off.
Artemis covering for me alone, I might have accepted without hesitation. But Warlock?
The Vanguard in me tells me this is foolish. I should not leave a magic user alone in my orphanage, surrounded by children. Magic is unpredictable. Magic is dangerous.
But I have already made my decision not to report him.
And the truth is, I am exhausted.
I have been exhausted for years.
This orphanage is my life. I eat here, I sleep here, I watch over the children as though they were my own.
But I am only human.
I tell myself I can keep going, that I do not need rest, that the children need me more than I need sleep or peace. And yet... Artemis sees through me.
She always has.
I could fight this. I could refuse out of pride or caution.
But the reality is, I trust her.
And if she trusts him, I will extend the same courtesy.
I will take the twelve hours off.
I will sleep for eight hours first—actual, real, uninterrupted sleep.
Then while they care for the orphanage, for the first time in years, I will step outside of this place with no responsibilities for a few hours. I don’t even know what I will do with that time, but I will take it.
If anything goes wrong, I will know soon enough.
But I do not believe it will.
— Evelyn
---
Meanwhile, Hayley, having no need to stay in Jenni’s apartment (since Jenni is not coming back) is moving out. Her thoughts are that she will have to follow her sister wherever she goes until she finds her. She wants to be there for her sister when the child is born. Hayley assumes that her life is going to be in New Lazlo if that is where her sister Jenni is going to move. Regardless, Hayley sees the need to travel light. She moves many of her things, and Jenni’s things, to the orphanage and gifts the orphanage. The rest of her plan is to make one more night’s money at, “The Fire Pole.”
---
The kitchen is immaculate, thanks to Warlock’s steam-cleaning before. For the first time in years, the morning air did not carry the scent of old grease or faintly burnt oatmeal. The polished counters gleamed under the dim lights, and the stone floor was spotless beneath their boots.
Lady Serana / Artemis stretched her arms above her head, rolling out her shoulders. “Alright, Warlock, 100 kids, one meal. I’ve handled worse.”
Warlock, already by the massive iron stove, cracked his knuckles, the motion slow and deliberate. “But out on the trail, they don’t demand pancakes.”
Serana smirked. “Then it’s a good thing we’re making something better.”
The Cooking Begins
Miss Evelyn’s usual breakfast was oatmeal—a meal designed for efficiency, not joy. It was filling, reliable, easy to make in bulk. But Artemis had other plans.
She had foraged markets and supply bins, gathering what she could without making it look suspicious. She had flour, eggs, milk (or something close enough), butter, salt, a small stash of honey, and even dried fruit.
Flat-Cakes with berry syrup. Fried eggs. Roasted potatoes. Something warm and hearty for growing kids.
Warlock measured ingredients with the precision of an old carpenter, muttering under his breath.
“Too much flour, the batter thickens. Too little, it runs like water.”
“I thought you weren’t a master chef,” Artemis teased.
He gave her a look. “I know how to measure things.”
She grinned, but didn’t argue. Instead, she chopped potatoes with swift, practiced motions, tossing them into a massive iron skillet over the flames. The scent of sizzling butter and crisping potatoes immediately filled the kitchen.
Cooking for 100 is not like cooking for 10.
The fire roared hot, requiring Warlock to adjust the flames constantly, ensuring nothing burned.
The batter had to be mixed in batches, leading to flour dust floating in the air like fog.
Eggs sizzled and popped, some sticking to the pan, some flipped a little too aggressively.
And yet—it worked.
The trail-hardened duo fell into a natural rhythm:
The Warlock monitored the fires, cooked, and flipped the flatcakes with methodical precision.
Lady Serana handled chopping, mixing, and taste-testing, ensuring the flavors balanced.
They took turns adjusting the heat, wiping spills, and keeping an eye on the orphans peeking into the kitchen.
By the time the first wave of plates was ready, the orphans had begun to gather, noses twitching at the unfamiliar, delightful scent.
-Breakfast Time-
The first child to hesitantly take a bite was a boy named Ren, one of the older kids—pragmatic, skeptical, not one to be impressed. He lifted a flatcake with suspicion, sniffed it, then took a small bite.
His chewing slowed.
Then his eyes widened.
“… It’s sweet.”
That was all it took.
The moment he grabbed another bite, a stampede of hungry orphans descended upon the food tables.
Children’s laughter filled the air as they eagerly devoured their meals.
Flatcakes disappeared in seconds, some eaten plain, others drizzled with precious honey.
Eggs and potatoes were shoveled onto plates, the savory contrast to the slightly sweet flatcakes making it an instant favorite.
A few younger children smeared honey across their faces, looking far too pleased with themselves.
One of the younger girls, a tiny thing with braids, ran up to Warlock and tugged at his sleeve.
“This is way better than Miss Evelyn’s oatmeal.”
The Warlock gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. “Oatmeal has its place.”
“Yeah, in the garbage,” another child chimed in, before running off.
Serana covered her laugh with a cough.
---
The Aftermath
After the chaos, once the last child had scraped their plate clean, Warlock and Artemis surveyed the battlefield of the kitchen.
Sticky plates. Flour-covered countertops. A few stray eggshells. A mess—but not a disaster.
Artemis exhaled. “Not bad for a couple of travelers, huh?”
Warlock simply grunted in agreement, rolling up his sleeves to begin the cleanup.
As Serana wiped down the counters, she paused to glance toward the orphanage doors—where Miss Evelyn was finally, truly, SLEEPING IN for the first time in weeks.
She smiled. This was worth it.
This was worth all of it.
---
The dining area had been cleared of plates and wiped clean, the scent of breakfast still lingering in the air. The orphans, now content and full, eagerly gathered around as Artemis took her place at the front of the room, holding a thick, well-worn book in her hands.
“Alright, everyone,” she said, settling onto a chair as the kids sat cross-legged on the floor. “Today, we’re going on an adventure.”
A ripple of excitement ran through the group. Some of the older kids, trying to act too cool to care, leaned against the walls—but their eyes betrayed curiosity.
She opened the book, its leather binding cracked from years of use.
“The tale of The Lost City of Ironvale,” she announced, “where heroes search for treasure hidden beneath the ruins of a kingdom swallowed by the earth. But beware—there are secrets lurking in the darkness.”
The orphans leaned in closer.
Serana began reading, her voice weaving through the room like music—smooth, captivating, bringing the words to life.
As the story progressed, she paused in key moments, passing the book to a child.
“Your turn, Rina.”
A timid girl took the book, hesitated for a second, then slowly read the next paragraph aloud. The kids listened. No teasing, no mocking—only support.
Serana nodded in encouragement. “Great work. So, what do we think about the prince leaving his kingdom behind? Was it cowardly, or was he forced to do it?”
A boy immediately raised his hand. “Cowardly! He should’ve stayed and fought!”
Another child shook his head. “No way. He didn’t have a choice!”
A discussion broke out, kids voicing their thoughts, agreeing, arguing, thinking critically. Artemis grinned. That’s what this was about—engaging their minds, making them think, helping them find their own voices.
The Warlock, standing off to the side, arms crossed, observed quietly.
He didn’t say a word, but when a boy fumbled on a word, looking frustrated, Warlock unceremoniously knelt beside him and traced the word on the table with his finger. The boy’s eyes lit up with understanding, and he finished the sentence without hesitation.
Serana saw it. She didn’t say anything.
But she smiled.
---
Outdoor Adventures
The orphans exploded into the yard, laughing, shouting, running in every direction. Artemis led the charge, energy boundless, moving as fast as the kids despite being twice their age.
The first activity: relay races.
Teams formed, kids strategized, and the competitive energy filled the air.
Some sprinted like lightning, while others struggled but kept going.
The rules were simple: Move fast, have fun, don’t cheat—or the Warlock will see you.
(He would, too. His watchful gaze caught every attempt at sneaky shortcuts, and his stern eyebrow raise alone was enough to make any guilty child slink back into place.)
Next, an obstacle course—built from barrels, crates, and ropes.
Serana climbed, ducked, and leaped through it first, making it look fun rather than a chore.
“Think you can beat me?” she grinned, hands on her hips.
The challenge was too good to resist.
They raced through the course, some kids falling, some getting stuck, but everyone helping each other.
The Warlock didn’t run the course—but when one of the smaller kids got tangled in the rope climb, he wordlessly lifted them up, setting them gently on the other side.
(He claimed it was efficiency, not kindness. No one believed him.)
By the end, the kids were breathless, sweaty, grinning ear to ear. Some flopped onto the grass, exhausted but satisfied.
“That…” gasped one of the older boys, lying on his back, staring at the sky, “was the best morning ever.”
Serana laughed. “Just wait. We’re not done yet.”
---
The orphans scattered across the main hall, choosing their activities.
Drawing. Painting. Crafting. Block-building. Each child picked their medium, settling into quiet, focused work.
A group of young artists dipped brushes into small paint jars, covering papers with bright, uneven strokes.
Others worked with scraps of fabric, thread, and twine, making patchwork dolls, tiny figures, and strange contraptions.
Block towers rose on one side of the room, as a competition quietly formed to see who could build the tallest, most stable structure.
The Warlock had somehow been roped into the block-building.
He didn’t participate at first—only watching. But when a frustrated child groaned as their tower collapsed for the third time, Warlock wordlessly knelt beside them, adjusted the base structure, and handed them another block.
The child hesitated… then tried again.
This time, the tower held.
(Within minutes, Warlock became the unofficial "block-building consultant," nodding in silent approval whenever someone got the angles right.)
On the other side of the room, Serana sat beside a group of painters, chatting with them as she sketched a tree, blending colors with casual skill.
A little girl, watching Serana work, poked her arm.
“Draw me.”
Serana,“You sure? I might not get your best angle.”
The girl giggled. “Just make me pretty.”
Serana grinned. “Kid, you already are.”
She set to work, and soon a small, simple portrait of the girl took shape.
The little one stared at it, wide-eyed. Then, without hesitation, she tackled Artemis in a hug.
Serana froze for a second, caught off guard. Then she laughed, ruffling the girl’s hair.
“Alright, alright, let go before you make me soft.”
---
Hours Pass
The orphanage buzzed with content energy.
The Warlock stretched, rubbing his aching knees. “Children have too much energy.”
Lady Serana smirked. “You’re just old.”
He didn’t argue.
As the children began cleaning up, Miss Evelyn’s footsteps echoed from the upper floor. She had finally woken up.
Serana glanced at The Warlock. “Think she’ll be mad we ruined her precious, predictable schedule?”
The Warlock shrugged. “Depends. Do we tell her the children are happy?”
Serana looked over the laughing, chatting, still-energized kids. She smiled.
“… No. She’ll figure it out herself.”
And with that, they braced for whatever Evelyn would say.
---
The orphanage was still buzzing with excitement from the morning’s activities. The children, still energized from the outdoor games and creative time, lingered in the halls and common areas, chatting and laughing. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Artemis and Warlock are back to work, preparing the midday meal.
---
Serana leaned against the counter, tapping her fingers as she surveyed their supplies.
“Alright, we need something filling, fast, and simple.”
The Warlock stood at the massive iron stove, arms crossed. “Stew.”
Serana grinned. “You read my mind.”
They both had years of experience cooking over campfires, making big meals with simple ingredients. Stew was perfect—nutritious, easy to make in bulk, and impossible to mess up.
As The Warlock set to work chopping vegetables with sharp, precise cuts, Serana started sorting through bread dough, using what little yeast she had to make quick-rise rolls.
---
The Warlock manned the giant stew pot, stirring with a wooden ladle the size of a small weapon.
The stew thickened with potatoes, carrots, beans, and whatever protein they could scrounge up.
Serana kneaded and shaped the bread dough, slapping it into small rolls before setting them into the oven.
The kitchen filled with warmth—the scent of slow-simmered broth and fresh bread rising in the air.
The Warlock checked the stew, tasting a spoonful.
“More salt,” he muttered.
Serana raised an eyebrow. “You actually ‘season’ your food? Shocking.”
He ignored her, adding the salt.
---
By the time the stew was halfway done, the orphans had caught the scent.
From the hallway:
“It smells really good!”
“Is that fresh bread?”
“It’s not oatmeal, right?!”
Serana peeked out of the kitchen, grinning. “It’s not oatmeal!”
A cheer erupted.
Warlock sighed. “Children are loud.”
---
By the time lunch was ready, Artemis tore open the oven, revealing golden brown rolls, soft and warm inside, crisp on the edges.
Warlock ladled the thick, steaming stew into wide bowls, placing a fresh roll beside each serving.
One by one, the orphans lined up, receiving their bowls with eager hands and wide eyes.
The first taste was met with silence.
Then:
“This is amazing!”
“It’s thick! It’s not watery like soup!”
“The bread is warm! It’s real bread!”
Warlock took a slow sip of his own bowl, nodding in approval.
Artemis leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching the kids devour their food.
“You know,” she said, “for two travelers who usually eat burnt trail rations, we make a damn fine meal.”
Warlock chewed his bread thoughtfully. “Could be worse.”
Artemis chuckled. High praise.
As the last of the orphans finished their meals, bellies full and spirits high, Artemis wiped her hands clean and stretched.
“Alright,” she said, grinning at Warlock. “One meal down. How many more before Miss Evelyn reclaims her throne?”
Warlock sighed, staring at the empty bowls.
“… Too many.”
And with that, they braced themselves for the next round.
---
With lunch finished and bellies full, the day was far from over. Warlock and Artemis divided their efforts, focusing on teaching, chores, and bonding—ensuring that the kids had fun while learning practical skills.
---
The Warlock led the orphans into the common area, where a long wooden table had been cleared for educational activities.
“Knowledge,” he said, his deep voice carrying a quiet authority, “is a tool. If you know how to use it, you will never be useless.”
The older kids nodded, intrigued. The younger ones just stared, waiting to see what he meant.
He spread handmade wooden puzzles across the table—some were shape-based, some logic-based, some riddles.
He created matching games for the younger kids, testing their memory and pattern recognition.
For awe and excitement, he used simple chemistry tricks—showing them how baking soda and vinegar reacted, how different materials conducted heat, and how plants absorbed water with food coloring experiments.
The children were engaged, eager to participate, to figure out the solutions.
Warlock rarely praised openly, but when a child solved a problem on their own, he would nod approvingly and say, “Good. You thought before you acted."
For him, that was high praise.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the room, Artemis had lined up a row of kids, her hands on her hips.
“Alright, listen up,” she said, grinning mischievously. “Who here thinks math is boring?”
A few hands shot up.
“Wrong answer,” she said playfully. “Math is everywhere. You like playing games? You like buying sweets at the market? You like knowing how many slices of pie you can steal before Miss Evelyn catches you?”
The kids laughed.
“Then you like math.”
She spent the next hour teaching them basic addition, subtraction, and fractions through games and real-life examples:
Guessing the weight of different objects.
Calculating how much food to serve if 10 kids each got 3 rolls.
Playing “math relay” races, where they had to solve an equation before running to the next marker.
By the end, the kids were laughing, learning, and competing—without even realizing they were practicing math.
---
With learning wrapped up, Artemis clapped her hands together.
“Alright, geniuses. Time for the real test—keeping this place livable.”
There were groans, of course, but she and Warlock knew how to make it engaging.
The Older Kids: Handled laundry, sweeping, and neating up.
The Middle-Aged Kids: Helped set the dinner table, folded linens, and dusted shelves.
The Youngest Kids: Had “important jobs” like wiping down tables and making their beds.
To keep it fun, Artemis turned it into a challenge:
Who could fold clothes the fastest?
Who could set the table without breaking anything?
Who could make their beds neat enough to impress Warlock?
(Spoiler: Warlock never looked impressed. Even when the beds were perfect, he would just grunt, “Acceptable.” But the kids loved earning his silent approval.)
Artemis, however, was more open with praise, ruffling hair, giving high-fives, and making sure every effort was noticed.
By the end, the orphanage was tidy, the kids proud of their work, and everyone felt like they had contributed.
---
After a long day of activity, the kids needed a last meal.
The Warlock prepared the main dish, a savory stir-fry with meat, vegetables, and a rich sauce.
Artemis handled the rice, making sure it was fluffy and perfect.
By the time dinner was served, the orphans rushed to the tables, eager to eat.
“This…” one of the older boys said between bites, “is the best day we’ve ever had.”
Artemis smirked. “Every meal can be like this if you stop giving Miss Evelyn a hard time.”
Some of the kids laughed. Others looked genuinely thoughtful.
Warlock just ate in silence, though he was clearly pleased with the outcome.
---
With the chores done, dinner finished, and the day winding down, it was finally time to relax.
Artemis pulled out her smart-phone, a sleek piece of pre-rift technology. With a few swipes, she projected a movie onto the orphanage’s largest wall, creating a glowing, colorful display that fascinated the children.
The orphans gathered on the floor, piling into makeshift cushions, blankets, and each other, eagerly awaiting the start.
Warlock, sitting off to the side, leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“What’s this one called?” he asked.
Artemis smirked. “A classic. The Lost Sky-Kingdom.”
A great kids' adventure movie, full of:
Airships
Daring heroes
A hidden city in the clouds
Villains defeated by teamwork and clever thinking
The moment it started, the room was silent except for the movie.
Some of the youngest kids clung to Artemis, nestling against her shoulder. A few older kids sat near Warlock, who—though he remained stoic—did not move them away.
For the next two hours, the orphanage was at peace.
---
As the movie faded to credits, Artemis stretched her arms above her head. “Alright, little troublemakers—off to bed!”
There were a few groans, but no real resistance. The day had been full, and the kids were exhausted.
One by one, they trudged off to their rooms, yawning, but happy.
Once they were gone, Artemis sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.
“That,” she admitted, “was a long day.”
Warlock, sitting in his usual place, took a slow sip of tea he had prepared.
He nodded.
She grinned. “Admit it. You had fun.”
Warlock didn’t answer.
Instead, he simply said, “They’re good kids.”
Artemis’s smile softened. “Yeah,” she said, glancing toward the orphanage halls. “They really are.”
As the night settled over the orphanage, the two sat in comfortable silence, knowing that, for today, they had done something good for the kids and Miss Evelyn a day off..
“To think Evelyn has to do this every day."
---
The halls of the orphanage were quiet now, the last echoes of laughter and conversation fading as the children settled into their beds. The warm glow of lantern light flickered against the old wooden walls, casting long, gentle shadows.
Artemis moved from room to room, tucking in the youngest children, pulling blankets snug, and whispering soft goodnights.
She had done this before. Years ago.
But back then, it was only for a month. This time, it was different. She wasn’t just a visitor anymore. She was listening.
As she reached the third room, a group of four children—Ren, Lila, Thom, and Bea—were still wide awake.
“Miss Artemis,” Bea whispered as she sat up, her braids a tangled mess from rolling around in bed.
Artemis smirked. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“But we always tell stories before bed,” Lila said, pulling her blanket up to her chin.
Ren, the older, sharper-eyed boy, grinned. “And we tell Miss Evelyn all sorts of things she finds useful.”
Artemis/Lady Serana, “Useful, huh?” she said lightly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Like what?”
The kids perked up, eager to share.
Thom, the smallest of the group, leaned forward conspiratorially. “We saw two Coalition officers walking around the market yesterday. One of them was asking about new faces.”
Lila nodded excitedly. “And remember the man with the metal arm? The one who always buys from Old Marta’s stall? He was hiding something under his coat this time!”
Serena’s smile never faltered, but her mind was suddenly racing.
She had worked with plenty of informants before—from resistance groups to outlaws, from psychics who read minds to rebels who lived in the gutters.
But these weren’t trained spies.
They are children.
Yet… they were good at it. Too good. Eager. Sharp. Aware.
She thought back to the morning, to the way the kids had casually mentioned “new people in town” to her and Warlock over breakfast. She had assumed it was normal chatter. But now… Now she saw the pattern.
Miss Evelyn—calm, disciplined, unwavering Evelyn—had turned these orphans into an information network.
Not trained agents. Not spies. But watchers. Listeners. Observers.
Lady Selana swallowed down the discomfort creeping up her spine.
Because, in a way… it made perfect sense.
No one suspects children.
They hear things that adults ignore.
They remember things that no one thinks to hide.
And Evelyn wouldn’t put them in direct danger. That much, Serena believed.
But still…
Serana looked at them—wide-eyed, innocent, excited to be “useful.”
This was their normal.
And that… bothered her.
---
She decided to push—just a little.
“Miss Evelyn must love hearing all these things,” Lady Serana said casually. “She must be so proud of how helpful you all are.”
Bea nodded immediately. “She always listens really carefully.”
Ren smirked. “And she never says much. She just thinks for a bit, and then—poof! She knows what to do.”
Thom beamed. “She says knowing things is how we stay safe.”
Serana exhaled slowly.
Of course she does.
She couldn’t even argue with that logic. Knowledge is survival.
But these kids… they were learning something else, too.
How to seewithout being seen.
How to report without seeming like snitches.
How to be useful in ways no one noticed.
It was clever.
It was practical.
And it was so damn Evelyn.
---
She had a decision to make.
She could bring this up to Evelyn tomorrow. Confront her. Challenge her. Ask her when she started doing this, why she started doing this, if she ever thought about the weight it put on these kids.
But then…
She thought of Evelyn herself.
How tired she always looked but never showed weakness.
How she carried this orphanage on her back, protecting these kids in ways they would never even realize.
How she never asked for help. Never wavered.
She thought of the Coalition officers sniffing around town.
She thought of the dangers in the Burbs—the crime, the things that preyed on the weak.
She thought of how alone Evelyn was in all of this.
And Serana realized…
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t even disappointed.
She was just… sad.
Sad that this was necessary.
Sad that Evelyn had no other choice but to rely on these kids to keep them all safe.
Sad that the world forced her to do it.
And Lady Serana knew, deep down, that if she were in Evelyn’s place… she might have done the same.
---
Serana let out a soft breath and smiled down at the kids.
“You know,” she said gently, ruffling Thom’s hair, “Miss Evelyn is lucky to have all of you watching out for her.”
The kids beamed with pride.
Serana’s chest tightened.
No, she thought. It’s the other way around. You don’t even realize how lucky you are to have her.
She tucked them in, pulling their blankets up tight.
“Sleep now,” she murmured. “Even the best watchers need rest.”
They snuggled into their beds, still whispering softly to one another, content and safe in their own world.
Serana stood up, watching them for just a moment longer.
Then she turned and walked out, her face unreadable, her mind still turning over what she had learned.
---
As Serana stepped into the quiet hallway, she sighed and muttered to herself.
“Evelyn… what the hell have you become?”
She already knew the answer.
She just wasn’t sure if she admired it…
Or hated it.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: Firetown Orphanage
The orphanage was silent, the children all fast asleep. A lone lantern flickered in Miss Evelyn’s office, casting soft, shifting shadows along the wooden walls. Evelyn sat behind her desk, elbows resting on the surface, fingers interlocked as she stared at the woman standing before her.
Artemis had asked to speak privately, just for a few minutes. But now that the truth was unraveling before Evelyn, she had a feeling this conversation would linger in her mind far longer than that.
Artemis stood tall but not stiff, composed but not detached. There was no arrogance in her voice, no defensiveness—just honesty, laid bare like an offering at Evelyn’s feet.
Artemis (Lady Serana), "I have not been completely honest with you, Evelyn. Not about what I am, and not about why I came here."
Evelyn said nothing, her expression unreadable.
"Before I took the name Artemis, I was—and still am—known as Lady Serana. A Cyber-Knight, formerly of the Fellowship of Cyber-Knights… but no longer."
Evelyn felt her stomach tighten. A Cyber-Knight. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but hearing it spoken aloud—knowing a living, breathing one had stood in her orphanage, among her children, all this time...
Still, she kept her voice steady, level, "And yet, you hid it."
Lady Serana / Artemis (nodded).
"For me, being a Cyber-Knight means being a humanitarian. It means studying people, understanding them, protecting them, even when they don’t know they need protecting. We are required to learn anthropology and paramedics—not just for war, but for peace. That is why I came here."
Her voice was calm, measured, but there was something beneath it—something vulnerable.
"I wanted to understand the people who live in the Coalition States—the way they see themselves, the way they see Cyber-Knights. I wanted to know if they truly believe we are evil, or if they simply do not know us at all."
Evelyn’s jaw tightened slightly at that. And what did you find? she wanted to ask. Did we live up to your expectations?
But she held her tongue.
"To move among the Coalition, I became Artemis. I shed my knightly armor, my title, and I walked among them as an ordinary woman. And I discovered something… remarkable."
Lady Serana let out a slow breath, as if even now, the revelation still shook her.
"The people here—your people—accepted my help. They took it freely, without question, without suspicion. Even though I was doing the exact same things I would have done as Lady Serana."
Her eyes darkened slightly.
"Helping people has always been more important to me than titles or recognition. So I convinced myself that the people didn’t need to know what or who I really was."
She glanced away, just for a moment, as if the weight of her next words threatened to crush her.
"I told myself it didn’t matter. But the truth is… I was afraid."
Evelyn’s fingers tightened against each other, her first real movement since the conversation began.
Afraid? A Cyber-Knight?
Artemis swallowed before continuing, her voice quieter now, more personal.
"I was afraid that if people knew, they would report me."
"I didn’t want to go to jail, or be executed."
"I didn’t want the people who needed help to be afraid to come to me."
"And more than that… I was afraid for you."
Evelyn’s expression shifted ever so slightly.
"I was afraid of what might happen to you and the orphanage if the Coalition ever found out about the money I donated, about the work I did here."
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
"I am telling you all of this now because… giving you this one day off, watching you finally rest… it reminded me of something important."
"The risks I take are not just with my own life. I am risking yours. And the children’s."
She held Evelyn’s gaze now, unwavering.
"That is something I will not do lightly. So I will surrender myself to your judgment."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"If you wish to banish me, then I will leave and never come back."
Evelyn exhaled slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs, but her face betrayed nothing.
"Regardless of your decision," Artemis pressed on, "I am going to leave to find Jenni—Hayley’s sister. She has gone missing."
That caught Evelyn’s attention.
"I expect it will take me far away. If I find her, I will escort her to the nearest safe town, and from there… who knows?"
She lifted her chin slightly.
"The only question left is for you, Evelyn."
"Do you ever want me to come back?"
For a long time, Evelyn said nothing.
She let the words settle, sink in, let the weight of their meaning wrap around her mind like a vice.
Artemis had lied to her.
Artemis had hidden who she was.
Artemis had put the orphanage at risk—however unintentionally.
But…
Artemis had also been there when no one else was.
Artemis had donated, protected, healed, supported.
Artemis had become a part of this place, whether she intended to or not.
Evelyn closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaled, and then opened them again.
Her voice, when she spoke, was low, steady, unreadable.
"You're right."
Artemis tensed slightly.
"You did put me and the children at risk."
She watched Artemis closely, saw the way her jaw clenched just slightly, as if she had already resigned herself to the worst.
"But you also helped me. You helped them."
She leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes locked onto Artemis’s.
"So here’s my judgment." A long, tense pause. "You can leave… but only because I expect you to come back."
Lady Serana blinked. “You…?”
Evelyn exhaled sharply, somewhere between a sigh and a dry laugh. "You want to find Jenni? Fine. But if I ever hear you let yourself die trying, I will find you in the afterlife and drag you back just to scold you."
Lady Serana laughed softly, shaking her head. “Understood.”
Evelyn finally leaned back, folding her arms across her chest.
"If anyone asks, Artemis is a wandering healer, and that’s all she ever was."
Lady Serana gave her a long, searching look. Then, slowly, she nodded.
She turned to go, but paused at the door.
"Evelyn… thank you."
Evelyn didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she simply watched Artemis go, watched her disappear into the night.
Only when she was alone did Evelyn let out a slow, unsteady breath.
Her world had changed tonight.
And yet…
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Artemis would return to her.
And when she did, Evelyn would be waiting.
---
Miss Evelyn’s Diary Entry
Subject: Artemis—Lady Serana—Cyber-Knight
I should be furious.
I should be writing this entry with shaking hands, anger burning through me like wildfire.
And yet…
I am not angry.
Not in the way I expected to be. Not in the way a loyal Vanguard agent should be.
No. What I feel is something far worse than anger.
I feel uncertain.
I know what the Vanguard would say if I reported this. A Cyber-Knight infiltrated my orphanage. A known enemy of the Coalition, a warrior trained in combat, psionics, and the so-called “virtues of honor.”
And yet, what did she do?
Did she spread rebellion? No.
Did she fight Coalition patrols? No.
Did she bring chaos or destruction? No.
She cooked for my children.
She psionically healed their injuries.
She made sure I got a day of rest I never would have taken for myself.
She has been here over the years, and never once has she used her skills against me or against this place.
Even now, she is leaving of her own will, not because she was discovered, but because she refuses to risk the people she has grown to care for.
That is not the action of a spy. That is not the action of a traitor.
That is the action of someone who truly believes they are doing good.
So I must ask myself: Is she truly my enemy?
Or has the world lied to me about people like her?
I trusted her.
I trusted Artemis—the healer, the friend, the woman who watched over my children when I couldn’t.
But Artemis was a lie.
Instead, she was Lady Serana. A Cyber-Knight. A warrior trained to fight the very forces I have spent my life protecting.
I should feel betrayed.
Instead, I feel conflicted.
Because when she stood before me tonight, when she finally told me the truth, she was not expecting mercy.
She was surrendering herself to my judgment.
She was afraid—not for herself, but for me. For the orphanage. For what the Coalition might do if her presence brought attention to this place.
And I think that’s when I realized…
She was always telling me the truth. Just not in words.
She has never acted like my enemy.
She has never treated me like one.
So how am I supposed to see her as such?
The Vanguard’s entire purpose is to protect humanity. That is why we hide within the Coalition, why we work in the shadows, why we compromise where others refuse to.
But I am beginning to see the flaw in that ideology.
We have been taught that magic itself is not the enemy—that the people who wield it recklessly are.
And yet, the Coalition cannot see the difference. They have taught their people to fear magic indiscriminately, just as they fear D-Bees, mutants, and psionics.
They have taught humanity to fear anything that is different.
And here I am, holding a secret just as damning as Artemis’s.
She is a Cyber-Knight. I am a Vanguard operative.
We both live in the shadows.
We both serve humanity in our own way.
We both lie to survive.
I cannot report her.
Because if I did, I would be no better than the Coalition dogs who execute without thought, without mercy, without understanding.
If I did, I would be proving her right to hide in the first place.
If I did…
I would be a hypocrite.
I can’t report her.
Not because I trust her completely. But because I trust what she has done.
She is leaving to find Jenni, and she may never return.
But if she does, I will not turn her away.
Not as a Cyber-Knight.
Not as an enemy.
But as Artemis.
Because the truth is, I do not know if I believe in the honor of the Cyber-Knights.
But I believe in her.
And that is enough.
For now.
— Evelyn
The orphanage was silent, the children all fast asleep. A lone lantern flickered in Miss Evelyn’s office, casting soft, shifting shadows along the wooden walls. Evelyn sat behind her desk, elbows resting on the surface, fingers interlocked as she stared at the woman standing before her.
Artemis had asked to speak privately, just for a few minutes. But now that the truth was unraveling before Evelyn, she had a feeling this conversation would linger in her mind far longer than that.
Artemis stood tall but not stiff, composed but not detached. There was no arrogance in her voice, no defensiveness—just honesty, laid bare like an offering at Evelyn’s feet.
Artemis (Lady Serana), "I have not been completely honest with you, Evelyn. Not about what I am, and not about why I came here."
Evelyn said nothing, her expression unreadable.
"Before I took the name Artemis, I was—and still am—known as Lady Serana. A Cyber-Knight, formerly of the Fellowship of Cyber-Knights… but no longer."
Evelyn felt her stomach tighten. A Cyber-Knight. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but hearing it spoken aloud—knowing a living, breathing one had stood in her orphanage, among her children, all this time...
Still, she kept her voice steady, level, "And yet, you hid it."
Lady Serana / Artemis (nodded).
"For me, being a Cyber-Knight means being a humanitarian. It means studying people, understanding them, protecting them, even when they don’t know they need protecting. We are required to learn anthropology and paramedics—not just for war, but for peace. That is why I came here."
Her voice was calm, measured, but there was something beneath it—something vulnerable.
"I wanted to understand the people who live in the Coalition States—the way they see themselves, the way they see Cyber-Knights. I wanted to know if they truly believe we are evil, or if they simply do not know us at all."
Evelyn’s jaw tightened slightly at that. And what did you find? she wanted to ask. Did we live up to your expectations?
But she held her tongue.
"To move among the Coalition, I became Artemis. I shed my knightly armor, my title, and I walked among them as an ordinary woman. And I discovered something… remarkable."
Lady Serana let out a slow breath, as if even now, the revelation still shook her.
"The people here—your people—accepted my help. They took it freely, without question, without suspicion. Even though I was doing the exact same things I would have done as Lady Serana."
Her eyes darkened slightly.
"Helping people has always been more important to me than titles or recognition. So I convinced myself that the people didn’t need to know what or who I really was."
She glanced away, just for a moment, as if the weight of her next words threatened to crush her.
"I told myself it didn’t matter. But the truth is… I was afraid."
Evelyn’s fingers tightened against each other, her first real movement since the conversation began.
Afraid? A Cyber-Knight?
Artemis swallowed before continuing, her voice quieter now, more personal.
"I was afraid that if people knew, they would report me."
"I didn’t want to go to jail, or be executed."
"I didn’t want the people who needed help to be afraid to come to me."
"And more than that… I was afraid for you."
Evelyn’s expression shifted ever so slightly.
"I was afraid of what might happen to you and the orphanage if the Coalition ever found out about the money I donated, about the work I did here."
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
"I am telling you all of this now because… giving you this one day off, watching you finally rest… it reminded me of something important."
"The risks I take are not just with my own life. I am risking yours. And the children’s."
She held Evelyn’s gaze now, unwavering.
"That is something I will not do lightly. So I will surrender myself to your judgment."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"If you wish to banish me, then I will leave and never come back."
Evelyn exhaled slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs, but her face betrayed nothing.
"Regardless of your decision," Artemis pressed on, "I am going to leave to find Jenni—Hayley’s sister. She has gone missing."
That caught Evelyn’s attention.
"I expect it will take me far away. If I find her, I will escort her to the nearest safe town, and from there… who knows?"
She lifted her chin slightly.
"The only question left is for you, Evelyn."
"Do you ever want me to come back?"
For a long time, Evelyn said nothing.
She let the words settle, sink in, let the weight of their meaning wrap around her mind like a vice.
Artemis had lied to her.
Artemis had hidden who she was.
Artemis had put the orphanage at risk—however unintentionally.
But…
Artemis had also been there when no one else was.
Artemis had donated, protected, healed, supported.
Artemis had become a part of this place, whether she intended to or not.
Evelyn closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaled, and then opened them again.
Her voice, when she spoke, was low, steady, unreadable.
"You're right."
Artemis tensed slightly.
"You did put me and the children at risk."
She watched Artemis closely, saw the way her jaw clenched just slightly, as if she had already resigned herself to the worst.
"But you also helped me. You helped them."
She leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes locked onto Artemis’s.
"So here’s my judgment." A long, tense pause. "You can leave… but only because I expect you to come back."
Lady Serana blinked. “You…?”
Evelyn exhaled sharply, somewhere between a sigh and a dry laugh. "You want to find Jenni? Fine. But if I ever hear you let yourself die trying, I will find you in the afterlife and drag you back just to scold you."
Lady Serana laughed softly, shaking her head. “Understood.”
Evelyn finally leaned back, folding her arms across her chest.
"If anyone asks, Artemis is a wandering healer, and that’s all she ever was."
Lady Serana gave her a long, searching look. Then, slowly, she nodded.
She turned to go, but paused at the door.
"Evelyn… thank you."
Evelyn didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she simply watched Artemis go, watched her disappear into the night.
Only when she was alone did Evelyn let out a slow, unsteady breath.
Her world had changed tonight.
And yet…
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Artemis would return to her.
And when she did, Evelyn would be waiting.
---
Miss Evelyn’s Diary Entry
Subject: Artemis—Lady Serana—Cyber-Knight
I should be furious.
I should be writing this entry with shaking hands, anger burning through me like wildfire.
And yet…
I am not angry.
Not in the way I expected to be. Not in the way a loyal Vanguard agent should be.
No. What I feel is something far worse than anger.
I feel uncertain.
I know what the Vanguard would say if I reported this. A Cyber-Knight infiltrated my orphanage. A known enemy of the Coalition, a warrior trained in combat, psionics, and the so-called “virtues of honor.”
And yet, what did she do?
Did she spread rebellion? No.
Did she fight Coalition patrols? No.
Did she bring chaos or destruction? No.
She cooked for my children.
She psionically healed their injuries.
She made sure I got a day of rest I never would have taken for myself.
She has been here over the years, and never once has she used her skills against me or against this place.
Even now, she is leaving of her own will, not because she was discovered, but because she refuses to risk the people she has grown to care for.
That is not the action of a spy. That is not the action of a traitor.
That is the action of someone who truly believes they are doing good.
So I must ask myself: Is she truly my enemy?
Or has the world lied to me about people like her?
I trusted her.
I trusted Artemis—the healer, the friend, the woman who watched over my children when I couldn’t.
But Artemis was a lie.
Instead, she was Lady Serana. A Cyber-Knight. A warrior trained to fight the very forces I have spent my life protecting.
I should feel betrayed.
Instead, I feel conflicted.
Because when she stood before me tonight, when she finally told me the truth, she was not expecting mercy.
She was surrendering herself to my judgment.
She was afraid—not for herself, but for me. For the orphanage. For what the Coalition might do if her presence brought attention to this place.
And I think that’s when I realized…
She was always telling me the truth. Just not in words.
She has never acted like my enemy.
She has never treated me like one.
So how am I supposed to see her as such?
The Vanguard’s entire purpose is to protect humanity. That is why we hide within the Coalition, why we work in the shadows, why we compromise where others refuse to.
But I am beginning to see the flaw in that ideology.
We have been taught that magic itself is not the enemy—that the people who wield it recklessly are.
And yet, the Coalition cannot see the difference. They have taught their people to fear magic indiscriminately, just as they fear D-Bees, mutants, and psionics.
They have taught humanity to fear anything that is different.
And here I am, holding a secret just as damning as Artemis’s.
She is a Cyber-Knight. I am a Vanguard operative.
We both live in the shadows.
We both serve humanity in our own way.
We both lie to survive.
I cannot report her.
Because if I did, I would be no better than the Coalition dogs who execute without thought, without mercy, without understanding.
If I did, I would be proving her right to hide in the first place.
If I did…
I would be a hypocrite.
I can’t report her.
Not because I trust her completely. But because I trust what she has done.
She is leaving to find Jenni, and she may never return.
But if she does, I will not turn her away.
Not as a Cyber-Knight.
Not as an enemy.
But as Artemis.
Because the truth is, I do not know if I believe in the honor of the Cyber-Knights.
But I believe in her.
And that is enough.
For now.
— Evelyn
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Monday
Coalition National Guard Induction Ceremony
The recruits stand in formation, thirty strong, their freshly-issued Dead Boy armor gleaming under the harsh lights of the training facility. The air is thick with anticipation. At the front of the hall, a large Coalition banner hangs behind a podium. A stern officer, Captain Doran, steps forward, his voice sharp and commanding.
The ceremony was short but powerful, a series of words binding them to the Coalition, to their commitment.
As Eli swore his allegiance alongside his squadmates, he felt the weight of the promise settle on his shoulders. The words rang out across the field: “I do solemnly swear...” The others were stiff, some nervous, others serious, but for Eli, it was just another box to check. He had played the game for years—this was nothing new.
“... loyalty to Emperor Karl Prosek, to the Coalition States, and to the defence of humankind against all threats. For the Emperor, for Humanity, and for the Coalition!"
---
Captain Doran:
"Recruits! Welcome to the Coalition National Guard. Today, you take your first real step in defending humanity, securing our territories, and ensuring the eternal dominance of the Coalition States. You have sworn your oaths—now it is time to understand what that truly means."
He gestures toward a large screen behind him, where the Coalition insignia flashes before shifting to a display of Coalition-controlled territories.
[Slide: The Coalition National Guard]
"The Coalition National Guard is a regional militia force, vital to the internal security and stability of our great nation. Unlike the main CS Army, which spearheads conquests and expansion, we hold the line, protect vital infrastructure, and enforce order within our secured zones."
The screen transitions to images of armed patrols guarding supply lines, standing sentry at outposts, and engaging in riot control.
[Slide: Purpose & Role]
"Your primary objectives are as follows:
- Defend key infrastructure—factories, farms, supply depots.
- Serve as a second-line defense in case of invasion or insurgency.
- Maintain order and suppress dissent in border towns and occupied territories.
- Assist in emergency response—rift surges, monster attacks, plagues.
- Act as garrisons and patrol forces in rural areas.
Wherever the Coalition needs stability, the National Guard ensures it."
[Slide: Composition]
"Our forces are drawn from citizens and Burbies alike. Civilians trained to fight when called upon."
Captain Doran lets his gaze sweep over the recruits.
"Each of you has a role to play in the survival and expansion of the Coalition. Whether you hold a rifle, pilot an APC, or conduct guard duty, your service ensures the security of our people."
---
[Slide: Equipment & Training]
"You are not front-line soldiers—but that does not mean you are unarmed or untrained."
"You will be equipped with:
- Older models of Dead Boy armor, laser rifles.
- Some SAMAS and mechanized units for rapid response.
- Basic power armor training, riot control techniques, and anti-magic combat methods.
While you will have fewer cybernetic augmentations opportunities than frontline CS forces, you will be more than prepared to crush insurgents, evil users of magic, rogue psychics, and supernatural threats."
[Slide: The Coalition State Guard]
"Each major Coalition-controlled city—Chi-Town, Iron Heart, Lone Star—has its own State Guard. These forces act as:
- A paramilitary police force with riot control duties.
- A territorial defense unit in case of invasion.
- A recruitment pool for the main army.
- A force responsible for suppressing resistance movements in occupied areas."
"Many of you will work alongside the regular CS Army or law enforcement locally, securing urban areas, policing settlements, and ensuring Coalition law is absolute."
[Slide: Differences from the Main CS Army]
"Understand this difference: The CS Army is a war machine, built for conquest.
The National Guard are the iron fist that maintains control.
We lack the high-end war machines like Spider Skull Walkers, but we do have APCs, a few older SAMAS models, and riot suppression vehicles."
[Slide: Are the National Guard Used in War?]
"The answer is yes, but not as frontline troops. We are deployed to:
- Hold captured territory.
- Enforce martial law.
- Suppress uprisings.
Examples:
- Siege of Tolkeen: National Guard forces occupied and pacified towns after their fall.
- Border zones near a Xiticix Hive: Guard forces conduct defensive patrols while the main CS military exterminates the threat."
"We ensure that the Coalition’s victories are never undone. When the army moves forward, we remain behind to secure their conquests."
[Slide: Final Thoughts - Your Duty to the Coalition]
"You are now part of something greater than yourselves. The Coalition National Guard is an extension of the CS Army, ensuring total control over our territories and crushing those who would defy us."
"Your loyalty, discipline, and training will keep humanity strong."
Captain Doran steps away from the podium, looking over the assembled recruits with a hard, evaluating gaze.
"Your destiny begins now. Dismissed."
The recruits stand at attention, then disperse to their assigned training stations. The Coalition banner hangs unmoving behind them, a silent reminder of the duty they have sworn to uphold.
---
Once the ceremony concluded, they lined up for their official photo in uniform. It was a moment that would be captured, one that would forever memorialize their service, their commitment. Eli’s eyes flickered around the group. He could see the apprehension in some faces, the pride in others. But his expression remained neutral. No one needed to know he wasn’t just a recruit—he was here for a different reason altogether.
Afterward, it was all bureaucracy—briefings about the service, upcoming training exercises, and the inspections that would take place in the coming days. They were issued their gear, and after a quick rundown of the field exercises scheduled for next week, they were directed to the barracks. The air in the barracks was stale and smelled of military-standard cleaning products. The beds were all the same, arranged in perfect rows, but for some reason, the place felt cold, institutional. The order to clean everything was given—everything—and Eli didn’t hesitate. He knew the importance of attention to detail. The inspection later was non-negotiable. The idea of being found lacking in any area—especially cleanliness—was a humiliation none of them wanted to face.
Throughout the day, Knight Four continues to use his psionic power of Mask P.P.E. to hide his energy.
At days end, he uses his mediation skill to regain his inner strength and substitute for sleep by meditating for 4 hours, so that he can keep his P.P.E. Mask on all the time while recovering his inner strength. This would be exhausting except via this skill of meditation, every hour of Meditation also counts as two hours of sleep. Thus,
four hours of Meditation under the skill equals 8 hours of restful sleep, as well as restoring I.S.P.
---
From the 'Burbs, these national guardsmen, joined as a way to get himself and his family moved up higher on the list of hopefuls waiting for citizenship and admission into Chi-Town.
Only about 10% can read, write or know mathematics, or have any other significant skills or education.
The Coalition uses them mostly as coordinated labor and glorified janitors and handymen who are good enough to take the place of an average Coalition Grunt but not as respectable or trustworthy to be armed with power armor or expensive equipment. They are trusted just enough to do the dirty labor jobs, service and maintain the equipment, build up a camp, prepare its defenses, make supply convoy deliveries to and from the sites of battles or war camps, as well as deconstruct a camp. The most important jobs include repairing Dead Boy armor and recharging E-clips. The most remedial jobs are typically guard duty, laundry, and such.
A large part of their crucial work in the field of battle is combing over the remains to recover dead and wounded Dead Boys along with salvaging the remains, of BOTH the CS and their enemies, of the armor, gear, power armor, weapons, and generally anything of value.
Typical Guardman from the Burbs.
I.Q.: 10
M.E.: 10
M.A.: 10
P.S.: 15
P.P.: 10
P.E.: 16
P.B.: 10
Spd.: 22
Hit Points: 23
S.D.C.: 60
2nd Level of Experience
Language: American at 92%.
Bodybuilding
Climbing: 50% / 40%
Military Etiquette: 55%
Pilot: Hovercraft: 65%
Pilot: Tank & APCs: 54%
Radio: Basic: 60%
Robot Combat: Basic
Sensory Equipment: 45%
Running
Weapon Systems: 55% (uses to fire weapons from vehicles)
W.P. Energy Pistol
W.P. Energy Rifle
W.P. Rifle
Hand to Hand: Expert
O.C.C. Related Skills"
Camouflage: 40%
Field Armorer: 60%
Forced March
Lore: Demons and Monsters: 35%
Military Fortification: 50%
Recognize Weapon Quality: 45%
Salvage: 45%
At 2nd level: Physical Labor
Secondary:
Basic Electronics: 35%
Housekeeping: 40%
Jury-Rig: 40%
Land Navigation: 40%
Recycling: 35%
Coalition National Guard Induction Ceremony
The recruits stand in formation, thirty strong, their freshly-issued Dead Boy armor gleaming under the harsh lights of the training facility. The air is thick with anticipation. At the front of the hall, a large Coalition banner hangs behind a podium. A stern officer, Captain Doran, steps forward, his voice sharp and commanding.
The ceremony was short but powerful, a series of words binding them to the Coalition, to their commitment.
As Eli swore his allegiance alongside his squadmates, he felt the weight of the promise settle on his shoulders. The words rang out across the field: “I do solemnly swear...” The others were stiff, some nervous, others serious, but for Eli, it was just another box to check. He had played the game for years—this was nothing new.
“... loyalty to Emperor Karl Prosek, to the Coalition States, and to the defence of humankind against all threats. For the Emperor, for Humanity, and for the Coalition!"
---
Captain Doran:
"Recruits! Welcome to the Coalition National Guard. Today, you take your first real step in defending humanity, securing our territories, and ensuring the eternal dominance of the Coalition States. You have sworn your oaths—now it is time to understand what that truly means."
He gestures toward a large screen behind him, where the Coalition insignia flashes before shifting to a display of Coalition-controlled territories.
[Slide: The Coalition National Guard]
"The Coalition National Guard is a regional militia force, vital to the internal security and stability of our great nation. Unlike the main CS Army, which spearheads conquests and expansion, we hold the line, protect vital infrastructure, and enforce order within our secured zones."
The screen transitions to images of armed patrols guarding supply lines, standing sentry at outposts, and engaging in riot control.
[Slide: Purpose & Role]
"Your primary objectives are as follows:
- Defend key infrastructure—factories, farms, supply depots.
- Serve as a second-line defense in case of invasion or insurgency.
- Maintain order and suppress dissent in border towns and occupied territories.
- Assist in emergency response—rift surges, monster attacks, plagues.
- Act as garrisons and patrol forces in rural areas.
Wherever the Coalition needs stability, the National Guard ensures it."
[Slide: Composition]
"Our forces are drawn from citizens and Burbies alike. Civilians trained to fight when called upon."
Captain Doran lets his gaze sweep over the recruits.
"Each of you has a role to play in the survival and expansion of the Coalition. Whether you hold a rifle, pilot an APC, or conduct guard duty, your service ensures the security of our people."
---
[Slide: Equipment & Training]
"You are not front-line soldiers—but that does not mean you are unarmed or untrained."
"You will be equipped with:
- Older models of Dead Boy armor, laser rifles.
- Some SAMAS and mechanized units for rapid response.
- Basic power armor training, riot control techniques, and anti-magic combat methods.
While you will have fewer cybernetic augmentations opportunities than frontline CS forces, you will be more than prepared to crush insurgents, evil users of magic, rogue psychics, and supernatural threats."
[Slide: The Coalition State Guard]
"Each major Coalition-controlled city—Chi-Town, Iron Heart, Lone Star—has its own State Guard. These forces act as:
- A paramilitary police force with riot control duties.
- A territorial defense unit in case of invasion.
- A recruitment pool for the main army.
- A force responsible for suppressing resistance movements in occupied areas."
"Many of you will work alongside the regular CS Army or law enforcement locally, securing urban areas, policing settlements, and ensuring Coalition law is absolute."
[Slide: Differences from the Main CS Army]
"Understand this difference: The CS Army is a war machine, built for conquest.
The National Guard are the iron fist that maintains control.
We lack the high-end war machines like Spider Skull Walkers, but we do have APCs, a few older SAMAS models, and riot suppression vehicles."
[Slide: Are the National Guard Used in War?]
"The answer is yes, but not as frontline troops. We are deployed to:
- Hold captured territory.
- Enforce martial law.
- Suppress uprisings.
Examples:
- Siege of Tolkeen: National Guard forces occupied and pacified towns after their fall.
- Border zones near a Xiticix Hive: Guard forces conduct defensive patrols while the main CS military exterminates the threat."
"We ensure that the Coalition’s victories are never undone. When the army moves forward, we remain behind to secure their conquests."
[Slide: Final Thoughts - Your Duty to the Coalition]
"You are now part of something greater than yourselves. The Coalition National Guard is an extension of the CS Army, ensuring total control over our territories and crushing those who would defy us."
"Your loyalty, discipline, and training will keep humanity strong."
Captain Doran steps away from the podium, looking over the assembled recruits with a hard, evaluating gaze.
"Your destiny begins now. Dismissed."
The recruits stand at attention, then disperse to their assigned training stations. The Coalition banner hangs unmoving behind them, a silent reminder of the duty they have sworn to uphold.
---
Once the ceremony concluded, they lined up for their official photo in uniform. It was a moment that would be captured, one that would forever memorialize their service, their commitment. Eli’s eyes flickered around the group. He could see the apprehension in some faces, the pride in others. But his expression remained neutral. No one needed to know he wasn’t just a recruit—he was here for a different reason altogether.
Afterward, it was all bureaucracy—briefings about the service, upcoming training exercises, and the inspections that would take place in the coming days. They were issued their gear, and after a quick rundown of the field exercises scheduled for next week, they were directed to the barracks. The air in the barracks was stale and smelled of military-standard cleaning products. The beds were all the same, arranged in perfect rows, but for some reason, the place felt cold, institutional. The order to clean everything was given—everything—and Eli didn’t hesitate. He knew the importance of attention to detail. The inspection later was non-negotiable. The idea of being found lacking in any area—especially cleanliness—was a humiliation none of them wanted to face.
Throughout the day, Knight Four continues to use his psionic power of Mask P.P.E. to hide his energy.
At days end, he uses his mediation skill to regain his inner strength and substitute for sleep by meditating for 4 hours, so that he can keep his P.P.E. Mask on all the time while recovering his inner strength. This would be exhausting except via this skill of meditation, every hour of Meditation also counts as two hours of sleep. Thus,
four hours of Meditation under the skill equals 8 hours of restful sleep, as well as restoring I.S.P.
---
From the 'Burbs, these national guardsmen, joined as a way to get himself and his family moved up higher on the list of hopefuls waiting for citizenship and admission into Chi-Town.
Only about 10% can read, write or know mathematics, or have any other significant skills or education.
The Coalition uses them mostly as coordinated labor and glorified janitors and handymen who are good enough to take the place of an average Coalition Grunt but not as respectable or trustworthy to be armed with power armor or expensive equipment. They are trusted just enough to do the dirty labor jobs, service and maintain the equipment, build up a camp, prepare its defenses, make supply convoy deliveries to and from the sites of battles or war camps, as well as deconstruct a camp. The most important jobs include repairing Dead Boy armor and recharging E-clips. The most remedial jobs are typically guard duty, laundry, and such.
A large part of their crucial work in the field of battle is combing over the remains to recover dead and wounded Dead Boys along with salvaging the remains, of BOTH the CS and their enemies, of the armor, gear, power armor, weapons, and generally anything of value.
Typical Guardman from the Burbs.
I.Q.: 10
M.E.: 10
M.A.: 10
P.S.: 15
P.P.: 10
P.E.: 16
P.B.: 10
Spd.: 22
Hit Points: 23
S.D.C.: 60
2nd Level of Experience
Language: American at 92%.
Bodybuilding
Climbing: 50% / 40%
Military Etiquette: 55%
Pilot: Hovercraft: 65%
Pilot: Tank & APCs: 54%
Radio: Basic: 60%
Robot Combat: Basic
Sensory Equipment: 45%
Running
Weapon Systems: 55% (uses to fire weapons from vehicles)
W.P. Energy Pistol
W.P. Energy Rifle
W.P. Rifle
Hand to Hand: Expert
O.C.C. Related Skills"
Camouflage: 40%
Field Armorer: 60%
Forced March
Lore: Demons and Monsters: 35%
Military Fortification: 50%
Recognize Weapon Quality: 45%
Salvage: 45%
At 2nd level: Physical Labor
Secondary:
Basic Electronics: 35%
Housekeeping: 40%
Jury-Rig: 40%
Land Navigation: 40%
Recycling: 35%
Last edited by darthauthor on Thu Feb 27, 2025 7:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: the lieutenant's office.
C.S. Lieutenant, "Turner, I know what you are.”
"As of today, you are tasked with an additional duty: You will use your abilities to spy on your platoon."
"You are to listen in on the thoughts of everyone in your platoon and report anything suspicious."
"Be vigilant. If one of your men deserts, goes insane, develops an addiction, maims, murders, sabotages, spies, steals, or commits suicide, you will be held responsible for failing to detect the warning signs."
"To ensure you stay sharp, I have planted two individuals in your platoon. One of them has abilities like you, and another will attempt to think dangerous thoughts, commit a crime, or sabotage the mission."
"If you fail to identify the traitor before they act, you will be expelled from the National Guard—marked as either corrupt, incompetent, or a fool."
"You are not to reveal this duty to your sergeant or your fellow soldiers. You will take no action unless necessary for self-defense or in an emergency."
"When you discover the target, you will leave their name at the designated dead drop location. That is all. Dismissed."
Eli Turner salutes and exits, the weight of his secret mission pressing heavily upon him. His mind races—who among his platoon is watching him, and who is the planted traitor?
[Eli Turner Leaves the Lieutenant’s Office]
Eli Turner steps out of the lieutenant’s office, his heart pounding. The cold hallway feels more oppressive than before. With practiced effort, he closes his mind, raising his mental barriers to prevent any unwanted intrusion.
Alone with his thoughts, Eli carefully analyzes the lieutenant’s orders.
The planted soldier—was it real, or a fabrication meant to keep him vigilant? If it was a lie, then it was a test. A test designed to see how Eli would react under pressure, to observe whether he would fabricate a name out of desperation. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed that the traitor did not exist at all.
Regardless of the truth, the lieutenant’s intent was clear: Eli was to spy on his own platoon. Whether or not the threat was real, he was expected to monitor their thoughts, to be the invisible warden among them.
Another possibility loomed in his mind. Was he being watched? Spied upon by telepathy, cameras, or even another psychic placed within the platoon? For all he knew, everyone in his platoon had been given the same orders—to secretly observe one another. If that was the case, it meant that the Coalition’s paranoia ran deeper than he had imagined.
Why? he wondered. Why would the Coalition focus more on threats from within than from without?
Then it hit him: the Coalition believed its greatest enemy was hidden within its own ranks. Addicts, deserters, traitors—these were the real dangers. The Coalition didn’t just want strong soldiers. It wanted absolute control over every mind within its grasp.
Eli let out a slow breath and straightened his posture. Whether real or fabricated, the lieutenant expected results. He would play his part. For now, he would watch, listen, and wait.
---
Tuesday
The morning began early with radio training, the standard language of the military drilled into them. The static buzz of the radios and the cadence of “Over”, “Roger”, and “Repeat last transmission” filled the air.
While most of the squad struggled to get the hang of it, Eli / Knight Four was already a master. His years of experience with communications systems came into play, and he rattled off the phrases with the precision of someone who had used them countless times in high-stress environments. It was second nature to him, something he had learned long ago in the field, and now it was just another piece of the puzzle.
After the radio session, they transitioned into a workout as a platoon. They ran, they lifted, and they pushed themselves through intense drills. Eli’s body moved with ease—his muscles were already finely tuned to the demands of any physical test. He led the group with steady, confident strides during the 6-mile staggered patrol, the platoon, divided into squads, its members maintained a distance of 4 meters apart. Someone always kept sight of the person ahead of them while watching a flank (side) as they hiked while sweeping the area.
The Coalition watch words, The enemy is EVERYWHERE!
---
After, it was time to dig foxholes—a task most recruits found taxing. But for Eli, it was almost meditative. The digging, the laborious shoveling, the precision needed to create a functional shelter in the field, it all came naturally. They were trained to think like soldiers, to adapt to their environment. And that’s exactly what Eli (K4) did. He felt the earth give way beneath his hands, the effort of the labor grounding him in the present.
After foxholes, it was time for target practice from them. The familiar sight of the rifles, the comforting weight in his hands, the precision of aiming at targets. Eli (K4) didn’t need much instruction. He was already a marksman. Each shot hit its mark with a steady rhythm.
With guard duty rotations, it was another opportunity for Eli (K4) to practice his focus. The stillness of the night and the quiet tension as they stood watch were reminders of the stakes. But he felt at peace with the task at hand.
Until, Knight Four’s mind wandered to the members of his platoon and his special order from his lieutenant. His body remained alert, his eyes scanning the members of his platoon around him.
While they wore their armor and remained silent, it was impossible to tell if a planted traitor truly existed. He would have to either listen to their thoughts or get them talking. Perhaps both, steering their thinking with questions that might reveal something.
Then it occurred to him—his psionic power: See Aura. He could determine who among them, if any, was psychic like him. But the power only lasted 30 seconds at a time. He had to conserve his reserves for telepathic eavesdropping as well.
Since the platoon operated in buddy teams, no one was ever alone. The most efficient use of See Aura was when he could observe multiple people at once. It should at least tell him who had psychic abilities.
Five psychics. Including himself. Unlike him, though, they only had two psionic powers each. He could not tell what they were, but he could guess…
He made a move.
“Hey, my name’s Turner. I’d like to get to know my battle buddies. I noticed we have some things in common; we’re both psychic. I took a glance at your Aura. Do you See Aura and Sixth Sense, like I do?”
Private Lee hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“I’m psychic, remember?” Knight Four laughed. Then he added, “Seriously, just a guess. I figure the brass wants at least one psychic per squad—to detect danger, or to weed out shapeshifters or possessions.”
Lee nodded in agreement, but Knight Four knew he had more work to do. There were still three others to assess, and if the lieutenant’s words were true, one of them might be the planted traitor.
Knight Four (under the cover identity of Eli Turner) remained alert, his eyes scanning his platoon. His special orders loomed in his mind. The lieutenant’s words echoed—someone in the unit could be a planted traitor, or perhaps it was a lie to test his vigilance.
He had options. The most direct was his psionic ability, See Aura, which could detect other psychics but only for thirty seconds at a time. He needed to conserve his strength if he also planned to listen in on thoughts later.
Since the platoon functioned in buddy teams, no one was alone. The best time to use See Aura would be in a moment where multiple people were in view.
Activating it, Eli observed. Five psychics, including himself. Unlike him, they only had two psionic powers each. He couldn’t tell which ones, but he could guess.
He turned to a soldier nearby.
“Hey, my name’s Turner. I’d like to get to know my battle buddies. I noticed we have some things in common; we’re both psychic. I took a glance at your Aura. Do you See Aura and Danger Sense, like I do?”
Private Lee hesitated before replying. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“I’m psychic, remember?” Eli chuckled lightly, masking his real intent. He then added, “Seriously, I just guessed. I figure the brass wants at least one psychic per squad—to sense danger, or to weed out shapeshifters or possessions.”
Lee nodded in agreement, seemingly unfazed by the revelation. Eli, however, wasn’t done.
Like a skillful interrogator, he continued to ask Lee subtle questions, attempting to discern if Lee had also been given an assignment similar to his own.
Knight Four (Eli) couldn’t be certain yet. But one thing was clear—whether the lieutenant had lied or not, the Coalition valued rooting out internal threats even more than facing external enemies.
C.S. Lieutenant, "Turner, I know what you are.”
"As of today, you are tasked with an additional duty: You will use your abilities to spy on your platoon."
"You are to listen in on the thoughts of everyone in your platoon and report anything suspicious."
"Be vigilant. If one of your men deserts, goes insane, develops an addiction, maims, murders, sabotages, spies, steals, or commits suicide, you will be held responsible for failing to detect the warning signs."
"To ensure you stay sharp, I have planted two individuals in your platoon. One of them has abilities like you, and another will attempt to think dangerous thoughts, commit a crime, or sabotage the mission."
"If you fail to identify the traitor before they act, you will be expelled from the National Guard—marked as either corrupt, incompetent, or a fool."
"You are not to reveal this duty to your sergeant or your fellow soldiers. You will take no action unless necessary for self-defense or in an emergency."
"When you discover the target, you will leave their name at the designated dead drop location. That is all. Dismissed."
Eli Turner salutes and exits, the weight of his secret mission pressing heavily upon him. His mind races—who among his platoon is watching him, and who is the planted traitor?
[Eli Turner Leaves the Lieutenant’s Office]
Eli Turner steps out of the lieutenant’s office, his heart pounding. The cold hallway feels more oppressive than before. With practiced effort, he closes his mind, raising his mental barriers to prevent any unwanted intrusion.
Alone with his thoughts, Eli carefully analyzes the lieutenant’s orders.
The planted soldier—was it real, or a fabrication meant to keep him vigilant? If it was a lie, then it was a test. A test designed to see how Eli would react under pressure, to observe whether he would fabricate a name out of desperation. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed that the traitor did not exist at all.
Regardless of the truth, the lieutenant’s intent was clear: Eli was to spy on his own platoon. Whether or not the threat was real, he was expected to monitor their thoughts, to be the invisible warden among them.
Another possibility loomed in his mind. Was he being watched? Spied upon by telepathy, cameras, or even another psychic placed within the platoon? For all he knew, everyone in his platoon had been given the same orders—to secretly observe one another. If that was the case, it meant that the Coalition’s paranoia ran deeper than he had imagined.
Why? he wondered. Why would the Coalition focus more on threats from within than from without?
Then it hit him: the Coalition believed its greatest enemy was hidden within its own ranks. Addicts, deserters, traitors—these were the real dangers. The Coalition didn’t just want strong soldiers. It wanted absolute control over every mind within its grasp.
Eli let out a slow breath and straightened his posture. Whether real or fabricated, the lieutenant expected results. He would play his part. For now, he would watch, listen, and wait.
---
Tuesday
The morning began early with radio training, the standard language of the military drilled into them. The static buzz of the radios and the cadence of “Over”, “Roger”, and “Repeat last transmission” filled the air.
While most of the squad struggled to get the hang of it, Eli / Knight Four was already a master. His years of experience with communications systems came into play, and he rattled off the phrases with the precision of someone who had used them countless times in high-stress environments. It was second nature to him, something he had learned long ago in the field, and now it was just another piece of the puzzle.
After the radio session, they transitioned into a workout as a platoon. They ran, they lifted, and they pushed themselves through intense drills. Eli’s body moved with ease—his muscles were already finely tuned to the demands of any physical test. He led the group with steady, confident strides during the 6-mile staggered patrol, the platoon, divided into squads, its members maintained a distance of 4 meters apart. Someone always kept sight of the person ahead of them while watching a flank (side) as they hiked while sweeping the area.
The Coalition watch words, The enemy is EVERYWHERE!
---
After, it was time to dig foxholes—a task most recruits found taxing. But for Eli, it was almost meditative. The digging, the laborious shoveling, the precision needed to create a functional shelter in the field, it all came naturally. They were trained to think like soldiers, to adapt to their environment. And that’s exactly what Eli (K4) did. He felt the earth give way beneath his hands, the effort of the labor grounding him in the present.
After foxholes, it was time for target practice from them. The familiar sight of the rifles, the comforting weight in his hands, the precision of aiming at targets. Eli (K4) didn’t need much instruction. He was already a marksman. Each shot hit its mark with a steady rhythm.
With guard duty rotations, it was another opportunity for Eli (K4) to practice his focus. The stillness of the night and the quiet tension as they stood watch were reminders of the stakes. But he felt at peace with the task at hand.
Until, Knight Four’s mind wandered to the members of his platoon and his special order from his lieutenant. His body remained alert, his eyes scanning the members of his platoon around him.
While they wore their armor and remained silent, it was impossible to tell if a planted traitor truly existed. He would have to either listen to their thoughts or get them talking. Perhaps both, steering their thinking with questions that might reveal something.
Then it occurred to him—his psionic power: See Aura. He could determine who among them, if any, was psychic like him. But the power only lasted 30 seconds at a time. He had to conserve his reserves for telepathic eavesdropping as well.
Since the platoon operated in buddy teams, no one was ever alone. The most efficient use of See Aura was when he could observe multiple people at once. It should at least tell him who had psychic abilities.
Five psychics. Including himself. Unlike him, though, they only had two psionic powers each. He could not tell what they were, but he could guess…
He made a move.
“Hey, my name’s Turner. I’d like to get to know my battle buddies. I noticed we have some things in common; we’re both psychic. I took a glance at your Aura. Do you See Aura and Sixth Sense, like I do?”
Private Lee hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“I’m psychic, remember?” Knight Four laughed. Then he added, “Seriously, just a guess. I figure the brass wants at least one psychic per squad—to detect danger, or to weed out shapeshifters or possessions.”
Lee nodded in agreement, but Knight Four knew he had more work to do. There were still three others to assess, and if the lieutenant’s words were true, one of them might be the planted traitor.
Knight Four (under the cover identity of Eli Turner) remained alert, his eyes scanning his platoon. His special orders loomed in his mind. The lieutenant’s words echoed—someone in the unit could be a planted traitor, or perhaps it was a lie to test his vigilance.
He had options. The most direct was his psionic ability, See Aura, which could detect other psychics but only for thirty seconds at a time. He needed to conserve his strength if he also planned to listen in on thoughts later.
Since the platoon functioned in buddy teams, no one was alone. The best time to use See Aura would be in a moment where multiple people were in view.
Activating it, Eli observed. Five psychics, including himself. Unlike him, they only had two psionic powers each. He couldn’t tell which ones, but he could guess.
He turned to a soldier nearby.
“Hey, my name’s Turner. I’d like to get to know my battle buddies. I noticed we have some things in common; we’re both psychic. I took a glance at your Aura. Do you See Aura and Danger Sense, like I do?”
Private Lee hesitated before replying. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“I’m psychic, remember?” Eli chuckled lightly, masking his real intent. He then added, “Seriously, I just guessed. I figure the brass wants at least one psychic per squad—to sense danger, or to weed out shapeshifters or possessions.”
Lee nodded in agreement, seemingly unfazed by the revelation. Eli, however, wasn’t done.
Like a skillful interrogator, he continued to ask Lee subtle questions, attempting to discern if Lee had also been given an assignment similar to his own.
Knight Four (Eli) couldn’t be certain yet. But one thing was clear—whether the lieutenant had lied or not, the Coalition valued rooting out internal threats even more than facing external enemies.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: National Guard Field Training Exercise
Wednesday’s formation started much the same, with a platoon lining up in a square while Knight Four turned on his psionic power of See Aura. The platoon stood in place with their faces revealed while Eli (Knight Four) matched the Aura with the face and confirmed that none were shapeshifters, possessed, seriously ill or insane, and that all are human.
Then the platoon’s workout began, a set of rigorous exercises that kept them combat ready, but Knight Four pushed through with ease, setting the pace for the others once again.
They did another 6-mile patrol—this time uphill, the terrain rougher, the weight of their packs more noticeable. But Knight Four’s steady pace kept him ahead. The discomfort in his muscles didn’t affect him; it was just part of the job.
After they practiced digging foxholes once more, but this time it was different. They weren’t just digging—they were setting up camp defenses, creating a fortified position, one that would withstand enemy assault.
The sergeant’s military experience had prepared him for moments like this. He directed the platoon in the best ways to position themselves, to fortify their defenses. Each shovel of dirt, each log placed in the trench, had a purpose.
The night came quickly, and with it, more guard duty. Everyone was tired, the exhaustion beginning to show.
Even though Knight Four was used to long hours in the field, watching, waiting, listening; he was tiring too.
It was a good time to investigate the platoon, while they were fatigued.
They break bread together with MREs.
The MREs are a sleek, no-frills, and functionally focused package designed for individuals with limited literacy, offering simplicity and practicality. Its contents provide everything needed for sustenance throughout the day, ensuring no choices are necessary once it's issued.
The MRE comes in a compact, fully biodegradable, sealed pouch. The design is minimalist, with a simple set of symbols to indicate the contents, usage instructions, and a clear mark for disposal. There's no need for reading—just a visual icon on the pouch indicates that the meal is for one person for a full day's nutrition.
The packaging can be torn easily with hands, no scissors or tools required. The material is lightweight yet durable enough to keep the contents safe from external contaminants.
---
The primary source of protein in this MRE consists of six Protein Bars, each serving as a compact, nutrient-dense meal. The bars have a smooth, creamy peanut butter flavor mixed with rich chocolate chip chunks, with the distinct nuttiness of the cricket protein providing depth.
The texture is slightly chewy but firm, easy to eat even on the go. The bars are rich in protein, fiber, and healthy fats, providing a steady supply of energy throughout the day. Each bar is packed with essential amino acids and micronutrients, ensuring the trooper gets a complete protein profile from the crickets, along with extra nutrition from added ingredients like oats, honey, and peanut butter.
To hydrate and replenish electrolytes, a single serving of electrolyte drink mix is included. The drink mix is packed in a small, single-use pouch that dissolves easily in water.
The mix has a light, refreshing citrus flavor (perhaps lemon-lime or orange), designed to help rehydrate and restore the balance of sodium, potassium, and magnesium in the body, particularly after exertion or throughout a physically demanding day.
The instructions for preparing the drink are simple, just add to water.
A single, smooth wooden spoon is provided to consume all the food. It's made from biodegradable wood and has a slightly textured grip to ensure comfort when eating. This spoon is sturdy yet lightweight and perfect for scooping any food. Once the meal is consumed, the spoon can be discarded with the packaging, and it will decompose naturally, leaving behind no environmental footprint.
The entire meal is designed to be consumed and disposed of in one go. After the contents are eaten, the biodegradable pouch and spoon can be buried or left to decompose naturally, ensuring zero waste. The meal's design reflects an eco-friendly approach, making it ideal for remote or resource-constrained environments where waste disposal is limited.
The MRE is designed for ease of use, especially for individuals who cannot read. The consumer doesn't need to decide between different meal options or worry about preparation. Everything they need for the day is already included in the pouch, requiring no further choices.
The platoon had started the day by consuming the electrolyte drink, followed by the protein bars at intervals to provide sustained energy. The inclusion of six bars is designed to ensure that there is enough to keep someone full throughout a day of work or activity, with an emphasis on high protein, healthy fats, and easy-to-digest carbohydrates.
The MRE requires no cooking or special utensils, as everything can be consumed straight from the packaging or with the spoon provided. This simplifies the process for individuals who are focused on immediate, practical sustenance.
The MRE's design takes into account individuals who may not have time or the ability to manage a complex meal. The simple nature of the MRE ensures that it can be eaten quickly and efficiently, allowing the consumer to focus on their tasks without distraction.
The taste is utilitarian but satisfying. The peanut butter flavor of the protein bars is familiar and comforting, providing a source of energy without being overly rich. The electrolyte drink mix adds a refreshing boost, making it easy to stay hydrated even in tough conditions. The inclusion of the biodegradable wooden spoon ensures that nothing is left behind, while the simplicity of the packaging and meal design keeps the entire process streamlined and accessible. This MRE represents an evolution toward sustainable, effective nutrition without the need for excessive choices or complexity.
After a long day of marching, Knight Four tears open the biodegradable pouch with a familiar, practiced motion. The meal, already compact and easy to manage, would be all that’s needed for the day, a reliable source of nutrition in a world where convenience and efficiency are key.
Opening the pouch, a quick glance at the simple symbols on the packaging reassures them that everything is straightforward—no need for instructions. Eli reaches inside, pulling out the small pouch of electrolyte drink mix, feeling the weight of it in his hands. He pops it open and pours it into a canteen, shakes it up, and immediately takes a deep drink, the citrus flavor slightly tart on the tongue, hydrating them in an instant. The refreshing sip replenishes the electrolytes they've lost throughout the day—this small drink immediately helps them feel more energized.
Next, he turns to the main meal, spaghetti with tomato sauce. He ripped open the vacuum-sealed pouch containing the pasta. With a deep breath, he takes in, savory aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs—a comforting reminder of home or the simplicity of a meal in the field.
He grabs the wooden spoon, a simple tool but one that feels sturdy in his grip. He stirs the spaghetti and sauce inside the pouch, the noodles soft but not mushy, the tomato sauce rich with flavors they can almost savor, even after days of field rations. He takes a bite—at first, the texture is smooth, with just the right amount of chewiness in the spaghetti. The sauce coats the pasta perfectly, savory with a touch of sweetness from the tomatoes and just enough garlic and herbs to make it comforting but not overpowering. Each bite is hearty, and it quickly fills them with warmth as it goes down. They keep eating, a small moment of respite between missions, focusing on the meal as it provides both satisfaction and fuel. The full calories of pasta fill him up, the richness and comfort helping them feel nourished for whatever lies ahead.
As he finishes the pasta, he reaches for the beans, squeezing the pouch and feeling its weight. The beans have been rehydrated too, and as he opens the pack, he can smell the earthy, rich aroma of legumes. They use the same spoon to dig in, the beans tender and warm, providing another layer of sustenance. The beans are simple but filling, with a slightly smoky flavor and soft texture that contrasts with the pasta. There’s something grounding about him, a reminder that this MRE, despite its simplicity, is designed for maximum nutrition in the harshest conditions.
As he eats, he feel the calories from the beans provide lasting energy, the mix of proteins and carbs sustaining him.
Knight Four (Eli) finishes his meal, wiping the spoon on the edge of the pouch before tossing it aside, knowing the wooden spoon can be discarded without harm to the environment. He can feel the fullness in his stomach, a sense of satisfaction settling in as the last bite of the beans goes down. He takes one final swig of the electrolyte drink, feeling the cool liquid settle comfortably.
The pouch, now empty, is disposed of without a second thought—there’s no waste left behind, the biodegradable packaging already beginning to break down into the earth. He picks up his gear, takes a deep breath, and settles down for the night. The meal has given them everything he needed—sustenance, comfort, and energy. It’s exactly what he need in the field—fuel for the body, warmth for the soul, and a momentary break.
Night Watch is assigned and the rest of us fall asleep with our rucksacks as pillows. When you are tired enough, you can sleep anywhere, even without a tent or sleeping pad.
Knight Four knows he is not getting anything out of the guardsmen who are asleep. And he has already used telepathy on the current security rotation. So he leans into his meditation for the next 4 hours.
Wednesday’s formation started much the same, with a platoon lining up in a square while Knight Four turned on his psionic power of See Aura. The platoon stood in place with their faces revealed while Eli (Knight Four) matched the Aura with the face and confirmed that none were shapeshifters, possessed, seriously ill or insane, and that all are human.
Then the platoon’s workout began, a set of rigorous exercises that kept them combat ready, but Knight Four pushed through with ease, setting the pace for the others once again.
They did another 6-mile patrol—this time uphill, the terrain rougher, the weight of their packs more noticeable. But Knight Four’s steady pace kept him ahead. The discomfort in his muscles didn’t affect him; it was just part of the job.
After they practiced digging foxholes once more, but this time it was different. They weren’t just digging—they were setting up camp defenses, creating a fortified position, one that would withstand enemy assault.
The sergeant’s military experience had prepared him for moments like this. He directed the platoon in the best ways to position themselves, to fortify their defenses. Each shovel of dirt, each log placed in the trench, had a purpose.
The night came quickly, and with it, more guard duty. Everyone was tired, the exhaustion beginning to show.
Even though Knight Four was used to long hours in the field, watching, waiting, listening; he was tiring too.
It was a good time to investigate the platoon, while they were fatigued.
They break bread together with MREs.
The MREs are a sleek, no-frills, and functionally focused package designed for individuals with limited literacy, offering simplicity and practicality. Its contents provide everything needed for sustenance throughout the day, ensuring no choices are necessary once it's issued.
The MRE comes in a compact, fully biodegradable, sealed pouch. The design is minimalist, with a simple set of symbols to indicate the contents, usage instructions, and a clear mark for disposal. There's no need for reading—just a visual icon on the pouch indicates that the meal is for one person for a full day's nutrition.
The packaging can be torn easily with hands, no scissors or tools required. The material is lightweight yet durable enough to keep the contents safe from external contaminants.
---
The primary source of protein in this MRE consists of six Protein Bars, each serving as a compact, nutrient-dense meal. The bars have a smooth, creamy peanut butter flavor mixed with rich chocolate chip chunks, with the distinct nuttiness of the cricket protein providing depth.
The texture is slightly chewy but firm, easy to eat even on the go. The bars are rich in protein, fiber, and healthy fats, providing a steady supply of energy throughout the day. Each bar is packed with essential amino acids and micronutrients, ensuring the trooper gets a complete protein profile from the crickets, along with extra nutrition from added ingredients like oats, honey, and peanut butter.
To hydrate and replenish electrolytes, a single serving of electrolyte drink mix is included. The drink mix is packed in a small, single-use pouch that dissolves easily in water.
The mix has a light, refreshing citrus flavor (perhaps lemon-lime or orange), designed to help rehydrate and restore the balance of sodium, potassium, and magnesium in the body, particularly after exertion or throughout a physically demanding day.
The instructions for preparing the drink are simple, just add to water.
A single, smooth wooden spoon is provided to consume all the food. It's made from biodegradable wood and has a slightly textured grip to ensure comfort when eating. This spoon is sturdy yet lightweight and perfect for scooping any food. Once the meal is consumed, the spoon can be discarded with the packaging, and it will decompose naturally, leaving behind no environmental footprint.
The entire meal is designed to be consumed and disposed of in one go. After the contents are eaten, the biodegradable pouch and spoon can be buried or left to decompose naturally, ensuring zero waste. The meal's design reflects an eco-friendly approach, making it ideal for remote or resource-constrained environments where waste disposal is limited.
The MRE is designed for ease of use, especially for individuals who cannot read. The consumer doesn't need to decide between different meal options or worry about preparation. Everything they need for the day is already included in the pouch, requiring no further choices.
The platoon had started the day by consuming the electrolyte drink, followed by the protein bars at intervals to provide sustained energy. The inclusion of six bars is designed to ensure that there is enough to keep someone full throughout a day of work or activity, with an emphasis on high protein, healthy fats, and easy-to-digest carbohydrates.
The MRE requires no cooking or special utensils, as everything can be consumed straight from the packaging or with the spoon provided. This simplifies the process for individuals who are focused on immediate, practical sustenance.
The MRE's design takes into account individuals who may not have time or the ability to manage a complex meal. The simple nature of the MRE ensures that it can be eaten quickly and efficiently, allowing the consumer to focus on their tasks without distraction.
The taste is utilitarian but satisfying. The peanut butter flavor of the protein bars is familiar and comforting, providing a source of energy without being overly rich. The electrolyte drink mix adds a refreshing boost, making it easy to stay hydrated even in tough conditions. The inclusion of the biodegradable wooden spoon ensures that nothing is left behind, while the simplicity of the packaging and meal design keeps the entire process streamlined and accessible. This MRE represents an evolution toward sustainable, effective nutrition without the need for excessive choices or complexity.
After a long day of marching, Knight Four tears open the biodegradable pouch with a familiar, practiced motion. The meal, already compact and easy to manage, would be all that’s needed for the day, a reliable source of nutrition in a world where convenience and efficiency are key.
Opening the pouch, a quick glance at the simple symbols on the packaging reassures them that everything is straightforward—no need for instructions. Eli reaches inside, pulling out the small pouch of electrolyte drink mix, feeling the weight of it in his hands. He pops it open and pours it into a canteen, shakes it up, and immediately takes a deep drink, the citrus flavor slightly tart on the tongue, hydrating them in an instant. The refreshing sip replenishes the electrolytes they've lost throughout the day—this small drink immediately helps them feel more energized.
Next, he turns to the main meal, spaghetti with tomato sauce. He ripped open the vacuum-sealed pouch containing the pasta. With a deep breath, he takes in, savory aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs—a comforting reminder of home or the simplicity of a meal in the field.
He grabs the wooden spoon, a simple tool but one that feels sturdy in his grip. He stirs the spaghetti and sauce inside the pouch, the noodles soft but not mushy, the tomato sauce rich with flavors they can almost savor, even after days of field rations. He takes a bite—at first, the texture is smooth, with just the right amount of chewiness in the spaghetti. The sauce coats the pasta perfectly, savory with a touch of sweetness from the tomatoes and just enough garlic and herbs to make it comforting but not overpowering. Each bite is hearty, and it quickly fills them with warmth as it goes down. They keep eating, a small moment of respite between missions, focusing on the meal as it provides both satisfaction and fuel. The full calories of pasta fill him up, the richness and comfort helping them feel nourished for whatever lies ahead.
As he finishes the pasta, he reaches for the beans, squeezing the pouch and feeling its weight. The beans have been rehydrated too, and as he opens the pack, he can smell the earthy, rich aroma of legumes. They use the same spoon to dig in, the beans tender and warm, providing another layer of sustenance. The beans are simple but filling, with a slightly smoky flavor and soft texture that contrasts with the pasta. There’s something grounding about him, a reminder that this MRE, despite its simplicity, is designed for maximum nutrition in the harshest conditions.
As he eats, he feel the calories from the beans provide lasting energy, the mix of proteins and carbs sustaining him.
Knight Four (Eli) finishes his meal, wiping the spoon on the edge of the pouch before tossing it aside, knowing the wooden spoon can be discarded without harm to the environment. He can feel the fullness in his stomach, a sense of satisfaction settling in as the last bite of the beans goes down. He takes one final swig of the electrolyte drink, feeling the cool liquid settle comfortably.
The pouch, now empty, is disposed of without a second thought—there’s no waste left behind, the biodegradable packaging already beginning to break down into the earth. He picks up his gear, takes a deep breath, and settles down for the night. The meal has given them everything he needed—sustenance, comfort, and energy. It’s exactly what he need in the field—fuel for the body, warmth for the soul, and a momentary break.
Night Watch is assigned and the rest of us fall asleep with our rucksacks as pillows. When you are tired enough, you can sleep anywhere, even without a tent or sleeping pad.
Knight Four knows he is not getting anything out of the guardsmen who are asleep. And he has already used telepathy on the current security rotation. So he leans into his meditation for the next 4 hours.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
The forest was a skeletal ruin of its former self, stripped bare by winter’s merciless hand. Gnarled branches, crusted with ice, rattled in the wind, whispering secrets of an age long past. Snow lay in uneven patches, some melted away to reveal the blackened scars of old fires—evidence of battles fought long before this night.
Thursday Was a Bit of a Change
Formation for the National Guard platoon of 30 strong remained the same—security checks, followed by accountability, inspections, and Aura readings to detect possession, shape-shifters, or illness.
After morning routines, the platoon took turns practicing driving an armored personnel carrier (APC) using a simulation program. The viewports were covered with monitors displaying digital graphics—crude compared to a true battlefield, but realistic enough to force them to think fast. Their simulated convoy ran a circuitous dirt road riddled with obstacles, traps, and ambushes, demanding quick reflexes and steady nerves.
Knight Four had never driven an APC before, but vehicle maneuvering under pressure was nothing new to him. His Telemechanics psionic gift gave him an unfair advantage, letting him interface with the machine as if he'd trained for years.
When his turn came, he gripped the controls with practiced ease, guiding the APC through the treacherous course. Explosions flashed across the screen, ambushes sprung from the brush, forcing him to react in real time. The simulation might have been digital, but the pressure felt real. He handled it all effortlessly, making quick, calculated decisions that kept the vehicle moving forward. When the session ended, the instructor gave a curt nod of approval.
Eli had proven himself competent. Maybe too competent.
They capped off the day with another round of target practice. For Knight Four, it was routine—his shots landed with mechanical precision, scoring a perfect run. For the others, it was a chance to refine their skills, to shake off the weight of their heavy gear and focus on something tangible.
As night approached, they went through the motions of maintaining their equipment—recharging their E-clips, refilling their canteens from the APC’s water processor, and double-checking their gear. The routine was becoming familiar. The exhaustion that had weighed on them earlier in the week was dulling into something manageable.
With a little more energy to spare, the platoon started talking, getting to know each other.
Knight Four took the opportunity to use his telepathy, quietly scanning thoughts as he engaged in casual conversation. The Lieutenant had given him an order—find the undercover agent among them. If there even was one. Knight Four had his doubts. Maybe it was a test. Maybe the Lieutenant was messing with him. But either way, he could at least eliminate some possibilities.
By the end of the evening, he'd ruled out half the platoon. These men were exactly what they seemed—National Guard recruits from the Burbs. The younger ones hoped to build their skills, endurance, and reputation, aiming for eventual transfer into the Coalition Army. All of them had enlisted to improve their resident status, earn better pay, learn some skills, and simply gain the respect that came with the uniform.
Many were still working on their American tongue, struggling with Coalition Standard. Some were relieved—even thrilled—to learn that Eli (K4) spoke fluent Spanish and Dragonese.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The moment his leadership found out, the platoon was reorganized into different squads, and Eli found himself being “voluntold” that he was now the official translator and radio operator. He was now responsible for explaining orders and answering for a squad that struggled with the American language.
For Knight Four, that meant carrying the military-grade radio backpack, complete with a crypto device, spare batteries, and extra weight he didn’t ask for. The short-range radios worked fine for local coordination, but if they needed secure, long-distance communications, Knight Four (Eli) was the one carrying the target on his back.
Because, if he happens to be fighting an enemy that is smart, he is the first guy that they try to kill.
Knight Four (Eli) adjusted the weight of his new gear and thought to himself:
I should have kept my mouth shut.
---
Meanwhile back at the orphanage.
Miss Evelyn had barely rolled up her sleeves and begun her morning routine when the knock came at the door.
At first, she ignored it, assuming it was one of the older kids who had forgotten something outside overnight. But when the knock came again—firm and deliberate—she sighed and made her way to the entrance.
Opening the door, she was immediately greeted by the scent of something warm, wholesome, and undeniably fresh.
The delivery person, a plain-faced man dressed in dust-covered clothes, gestured to the crates at his feet. “Delivery for you, Miss.”
Evelyn stared at the crates.
Then at the man.
Then back at the crates.
“…Who sent it?” she asked cautiously.
The man scratched his neck. “Can’t say, just handed me a note to give you.” He fished the paper from his pocket and held it out to her.
Evelyn hesitated for only a second before taking it.
The Note
"From Artemis—"
Evelyn exhaled sharply, already expecting trouble.
"I know how hard it is to make breakfast for 100. Full transparency, the bread and milk are magically sourced."
Magically. Sourced.
Evelyn’s stomach tightened instinctively. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions—ingrained caution, silent frustration, and something dangerously close to gratitude.
But before she could overthink it, her senses were drawn to the crates themselves.
The bread loaves were beautifully round, each one golden-brown, with a crackled crust and that unmistakable wood-fired aroma.
They were large—1.8 kilograms each—enough to feed dozens when sliced.
And the milk…
It was thick, with cream rising to the top, richer and sweeter than anything Evelyn had ever smelled from a rationed Coalition supply.
She didn’t have to taste it to know it was better than what they normally got.
But the fact that it was made with magic…
Her fingers clenched slightly around the note.
Of course Artemis had left. Of course she had found a way to help from a distance.
And of course, she had done so in the one way that would test Evelyn’s limits more than anything else.
Evelyn was Vanguard. Magic had been a tool of necessity, a weapon, something to be used discreetly and only when needed.
But this?
This was feeding her children.
And she had a choice to make.
Logic told her that taking magically created food was a slippery slope. That accepting it once meant justifying it later. That the Vanguard wouldn’t approve.
But her heart told her something else entirely.
The children wouldn’t care that the bread and milk were made with magic.
They wouldn’t turn their noses up at something warm, nourishing, and good.
They wouldn’t ask where it came from—only that they had something better than usual.
And wasn’t that the entire point of the Vanguard?
Wasn’t she fighting for their survival?
Evelyn let out a slow breath, the cold morning air curling around her face as she forced her internal debate to quiet.
She looked at the delivery man.
“Did she already pay you?” Evelyn asked.
He nodded.
Evelyn narrowed her eyes slightly, but exhaled through her nose.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Help me bring it inside.”
---
The bread and milk were brought into the kitchen, carefully set onto the wooden counters.
Evelyn stood there for a moment, staring at the bounty laid before her.
It was good food.
It was real food.
And it would be eaten.
She tucked the note into her pocket before any of the children could see it.
Then, rolling up her sleeves, she began preparing breakfast.
If Artemis ever came back, Evelyn would have words for her.
But for now?
She had children to feed.
---
The kitchen buzzed with anticipation as the scent of freshly sliced bread filled the air.
Evelyn had prepared thick wedges of the golden-brown loaves, placing them on wooden plates alongside tin cups filled with the creamy, rich milk.
The children gathered at the long tables, rubbing their sleepy eyes, expecting the usual routine. Oatmeal. Rationed milk. Maybe a hard roll if they were lucky.
But today was different.
And they noticed immediately.
Ren, the older, more skeptical boy, was the first to take a bite. He held the wedge of bread in his hands, turning it over, inspecting its crackled crust and soft, pale-golden interior.
Then, with a shrug, he bit into it.
He froze.
The chewiness. The warmth. The rich, slightly sweet taste.
His eyes widened.
“This…” He chewed, swallowed, then looked at Evelyn with something bordering on betrayal. “This isn’t that hard dry stuff we usually get!”
A younger child followed suit, nibbling at a piece before breaking into a delighted smile.
“It’s soft!”
“It’s sweet!”
“It’s—”
Another child, more interested in the milk, took a slow, hesitant sip. Their eyes immediately lit up.
“It tastes like clouds!”
Evelyn let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. “Clouds don’t have a taste, Bea.”
“Yes, they do,” Bea insisted, cradling the tin cup like it was made of gold. “It tastes like fluffy clouds and sunshine.”
A wave of excitement rippled through the room.
- Cups were lifted. Milk was gulped.
- Bread was torn apart. Crumbs fell everywhere.
- Children laughed, chattered, and hummed with satisfaction.
One of the younger ones, mouth still half-full, grinned up at Evelyn.
“Where did this come from?”
Evelyn paused.
She could feel the note in her pocket, crumpled against the fabric of her apron.
She could tell them the truth. Tell them Artemis sent it. Tell them it was made with magic.
But instead, she just said:
“A gift.”
Because that’s what it was.
And, for today, that was all that mattered.
As the children ate, smiled, and filled their bellies with warmth, Evelyn watched quietly, arms crossed, a small, unreadable expression on her face.
She still had a lot to think about.
But for now?
She had no regrets.
Thursday Was a Bit of a Change
Formation for the National Guard platoon of 30 strong remained the same—security checks, followed by accountability, inspections, and Aura readings to detect possession, shape-shifters, or illness.
After morning routines, the platoon took turns practicing driving an armored personnel carrier (APC) using a simulation program. The viewports were covered with monitors displaying digital graphics—crude compared to a true battlefield, but realistic enough to force them to think fast. Their simulated convoy ran a circuitous dirt road riddled with obstacles, traps, and ambushes, demanding quick reflexes and steady nerves.
Knight Four had never driven an APC before, but vehicle maneuvering under pressure was nothing new to him. His Telemechanics psionic gift gave him an unfair advantage, letting him interface with the machine as if he'd trained for years.
When his turn came, he gripped the controls with practiced ease, guiding the APC through the treacherous course. Explosions flashed across the screen, ambushes sprung from the brush, forcing him to react in real time. The simulation might have been digital, but the pressure felt real. He handled it all effortlessly, making quick, calculated decisions that kept the vehicle moving forward. When the session ended, the instructor gave a curt nod of approval.
Eli had proven himself competent. Maybe too competent.
They capped off the day with another round of target practice. For Knight Four, it was routine—his shots landed with mechanical precision, scoring a perfect run. For the others, it was a chance to refine their skills, to shake off the weight of their heavy gear and focus on something tangible.
As night approached, they went through the motions of maintaining their equipment—recharging their E-clips, refilling their canteens from the APC’s water processor, and double-checking their gear. The routine was becoming familiar. The exhaustion that had weighed on them earlier in the week was dulling into something manageable.
With a little more energy to spare, the platoon started talking, getting to know each other.
Knight Four took the opportunity to use his telepathy, quietly scanning thoughts as he engaged in casual conversation. The Lieutenant had given him an order—find the undercover agent among them. If there even was one. Knight Four had his doubts. Maybe it was a test. Maybe the Lieutenant was messing with him. But either way, he could at least eliminate some possibilities.
By the end of the evening, he'd ruled out half the platoon. These men were exactly what they seemed—National Guard recruits from the Burbs. The younger ones hoped to build their skills, endurance, and reputation, aiming for eventual transfer into the Coalition Army. All of them had enlisted to improve their resident status, earn better pay, learn some skills, and simply gain the respect that came with the uniform.
Many were still working on their American tongue, struggling with Coalition Standard. Some were relieved—even thrilled—to learn that Eli (K4) spoke fluent Spanish and Dragonese.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The moment his leadership found out, the platoon was reorganized into different squads, and Eli found himself being “voluntold” that he was now the official translator and radio operator. He was now responsible for explaining orders and answering for a squad that struggled with the American language.
For Knight Four, that meant carrying the military-grade radio backpack, complete with a crypto device, spare batteries, and extra weight he didn’t ask for. The short-range radios worked fine for local coordination, but if they needed secure, long-distance communications, Knight Four (Eli) was the one carrying the target on his back.
Because, if he happens to be fighting an enemy that is smart, he is the first guy that they try to kill.
Knight Four (Eli) adjusted the weight of his new gear and thought to himself:
I should have kept my mouth shut.
---
Meanwhile back at the orphanage.
Miss Evelyn had barely rolled up her sleeves and begun her morning routine when the knock came at the door.
At first, she ignored it, assuming it was one of the older kids who had forgotten something outside overnight. But when the knock came again—firm and deliberate—she sighed and made her way to the entrance.
Opening the door, she was immediately greeted by the scent of something warm, wholesome, and undeniably fresh.
The delivery person, a plain-faced man dressed in dust-covered clothes, gestured to the crates at his feet. “Delivery for you, Miss.”
Evelyn stared at the crates.
Then at the man.
Then back at the crates.
“…Who sent it?” she asked cautiously.
The man scratched his neck. “Can’t say, just handed me a note to give you.” He fished the paper from his pocket and held it out to her.
Evelyn hesitated for only a second before taking it.
The Note
"From Artemis—"
Evelyn exhaled sharply, already expecting trouble.
"I know how hard it is to make breakfast for 100. Full transparency, the bread and milk are magically sourced."
Magically. Sourced.
Evelyn’s stomach tightened instinctively. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions—ingrained caution, silent frustration, and something dangerously close to gratitude.
But before she could overthink it, her senses were drawn to the crates themselves.
The bread loaves were beautifully round, each one golden-brown, with a crackled crust and that unmistakable wood-fired aroma.
They were large—1.8 kilograms each—enough to feed dozens when sliced.
And the milk…
It was thick, with cream rising to the top, richer and sweeter than anything Evelyn had ever smelled from a rationed Coalition supply.
She didn’t have to taste it to know it was better than what they normally got.
But the fact that it was made with magic…
Her fingers clenched slightly around the note.
Of course Artemis had left. Of course she had found a way to help from a distance.
And of course, she had done so in the one way that would test Evelyn’s limits more than anything else.
Evelyn was Vanguard. Magic had been a tool of necessity, a weapon, something to be used discreetly and only when needed.
But this?
This was feeding her children.
And she had a choice to make.
Logic told her that taking magically created food was a slippery slope. That accepting it once meant justifying it later. That the Vanguard wouldn’t approve.
But her heart told her something else entirely.
The children wouldn’t care that the bread and milk were made with magic.
They wouldn’t turn their noses up at something warm, nourishing, and good.
They wouldn’t ask where it came from—only that they had something better than usual.
And wasn’t that the entire point of the Vanguard?
Wasn’t she fighting for their survival?
Evelyn let out a slow breath, the cold morning air curling around her face as she forced her internal debate to quiet.
She looked at the delivery man.
“Did she already pay you?” Evelyn asked.
He nodded.
Evelyn narrowed her eyes slightly, but exhaled through her nose.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Help me bring it inside.”
---
The bread and milk were brought into the kitchen, carefully set onto the wooden counters.
Evelyn stood there for a moment, staring at the bounty laid before her.
It was good food.
It was real food.
And it would be eaten.
She tucked the note into her pocket before any of the children could see it.
Then, rolling up her sleeves, she began preparing breakfast.
If Artemis ever came back, Evelyn would have words for her.
But for now?
She had children to feed.
---
The kitchen buzzed with anticipation as the scent of freshly sliced bread filled the air.
Evelyn had prepared thick wedges of the golden-brown loaves, placing them on wooden plates alongside tin cups filled with the creamy, rich milk.
The children gathered at the long tables, rubbing their sleepy eyes, expecting the usual routine. Oatmeal. Rationed milk. Maybe a hard roll if they were lucky.
But today was different.
And they noticed immediately.
Ren, the older, more skeptical boy, was the first to take a bite. He held the wedge of bread in his hands, turning it over, inspecting its crackled crust and soft, pale-golden interior.
Then, with a shrug, he bit into it.
He froze.
The chewiness. The warmth. The rich, slightly sweet taste.
His eyes widened.
“This…” He chewed, swallowed, then looked at Evelyn with something bordering on betrayal. “This isn’t that hard dry stuff we usually get!”
A younger child followed suit, nibbling at a piece before breaking into a delighted smile.
“It’s soft!”
“It’s sweet!”
“It’s—”
Another child, more interested in the milk, took a slow, hesitant sip. Their eyes immediately lit up.
“It tastes like clouds!”
Evelyn let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. “Clouds don’t have a taste, Bea.”
“Yes, they do,” Bea insisted, cradling the tin cup like it was made of gold. “It tastes like fluffy clouds and sunshine.”
A wave of excitement rippled through the room.
- Cups were lifted. Milk was gulped.
- Bread was torn apart. Crumbs fell everywhere.
- Children laughed, chattered, and hummed with satisfaction.
One of the younger ones, mouth still half-full, grinned up at Evelyn.
“Where did this come from?”
Evelyn paused.
She could feel the note in her pocket, crumpled against the fabric of her apron.
She could tell them the truth. Tell them Artemis sent it. Tell them it was made with magic.
But instead, she just said:
“A gift.”
Because that’s what it was.
And, for today, that was all that mattered.
As the children ate, smiled, and filled their bellies with warmth, Evelyn watched quietly, arms crossed, a small, unreadable expression on her face.
She still had a lot to think about.
But for now?
She had no regrets.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Friday’s drills were the culmination of the week’s efforts. The platoon did an 8-mile (12.8 kilometer) march, this one longer and more grueling than the others. Knight Four was ahead of the pack again, his legs moving smoothly as the others began to tire. He didn’t feel the strain; his body had long ago adapted to these physical demands.
After the march, it was back to the trenches—foxholes to be dug once again, but this time, they weren’t just preparing for the drills. This was a camp defense simulation. The recruits would simulate defending their position from an enemy attack, and every man was required to do their part.
K4 (Eli’s) experience came through as he monitored the radio and translated.
The defensive drill ran smoothly, and by the end, the platoon had succeeded. The feeling of accomplishment was there, but there was no time to relax. The sergeant reminded them of the test coming, a challenge to see what and if they had kept anything of what they had done this week.
Knight Four (Eli Turner) wasn’t concerned. He had already passed everything this week with ease. The tests were just formalities. What mattered now was what came next—the deeper layers of the game that were still unfolding.
---
As the week came to a close, the platoon was granted a brief reprieve for the weekend. After a stern briefing warning against operating equipment after drinking, Eli found himself lying in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The stress of the past week had weighed on him. He half expected to see Dog Boys patrolling on either side of him, but instead, he found himself in a peculiar position. He wasn’t fully trusted by the Coalition National Guard, but they hadn’t locked him up or ignored him either. No, he was being watched. It was clear they were waiting for him to slip up.
The Coalition States had their suspicions. No. They were always suspicious; paranoid even. But, they were also trapped by their own bureaucratic machine, grinding along despite itself. If he were in some remote backwater kingdom, someone might have already taken him out or exiled him, just to be sure. But the CS worked differently. The various government departments had, unwittingly, played into his favor. They didn’t communicate in perfect harmony. No, they were like cogs in an independent machine—each moving along, oblivious to the others. Still, it worked for him. The National Guard had done right by him, so far.
Knight Four was certain the situation had also worked out for the CS, in a twisted way. It gave them a legitimate means to test “Eli Turner.” The longer Knight Four passed their tests, the harder it became for anyone to justify taking action against him—especially when they had no evidence of any crime. The risk of ruining someone’s career over killing or even just incarcerating him, without clear proof, was a gamble no one wanted to take. Whoever Eli Turner was, it was clear he had the kind of money that could ruin careers if someone acted recklessly. Even the faceless bureaucrats had to appear to do things the 'correct' way. Knight Four was certain the CS could spy on him all they wanted, even get away with assassination as long as they camouflaged it as an accident. Beyond his wildest dreams, however, his being a CS officer confirm Xiticix fighter endeared him to enough people in the right places.
Of course, it had crossed his mind that the death of “Eli Turner” could be arranged in a training accident while he was here. Knight Four suspected that might be one of the larger reasons a messenger had been sent to him, informing him that he was required by the State to report to the local National Guard unit and submit himself for duty.
Service to the State was an obligation traditionally fulfilled by able-bodied teenagers in the Coalition States. Since the real "Eli Turner" had run away, he had never started or fulfilled that duty, but now he had the chance to make up for it—or face the consequences. Knight Four figured they were watching him, hoping he would run. Instead, he’d shown up for Drill. Now, he was in a more precarious position—easier to kill, but much harder to believe he was a threat or a traitor and harder justify.
Besides, the CS had thousands of D-Bees and even thousands of humans they could justify eliminating in the Burbs. Yet they didn’t. Why? Order. The CS loved things orderly and quiet. And, frankly, finding the right target to eliminate was harder and riskier than most were willing to undertake.
With the war in Tolkeen still raging, the Coalition's best and brightest had their attention focused on winning it.
After the march, it was back to the trenches—foxholes to be dug once again, but this time, they weren’t just preparing for the drills. This was a camp defense simulation. The recruits would simulate defending their position from an enemy attack, and every man was required to do their part.
K4 (Eli’s) experience came through as he monitored the radio and translated.
The defensive drill ran smoothly, and by the end, the platoon had succeeded. The feeling of accomplishment was there, but there was no time to relax. The sergeant reminded them of the test coming, a challenge to see what and if they had kept anything of what they had done this week.
Knight Four (Eli Turner) wasn’t concerned. He had already passed everything this week with ease. The tests were just formalities. What mattered now was what came next—the deeper layers of the game that were still unfolding.
---
As the week came to a close, the platoon was granted a brief reprieve for the weekend. After a stern briefing warning against operating equipment after drinking, Eli found himself lying in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The stress of the past week had weighed on him. He half expected to see Dog Boys patrolling on either side of him, but instead, he found himself in a peculiar position. He wasn’t fully trusted by the Coalition National Guard, but they hadn’t locked him up or ignored him either. No, he was being watched. It was clear they were waiting for him to slip up.
The Coalition States had their suspicions. No. They were always suspicious; paranoid even. But, they were also trapped by their own bureaucratic machine, grinding along despite itself. If he were in some remote backwater kingdom, someone might have already taken him out or exiled him, just to be sure. But the CS worked differently. The various government departments had, unwittingly, played into his favor. They didn’t communicate in perfect harmony. No, they were like cogs in an independent machine—each moving along, oblivious to the others. Still, it worked for him. The National Guard had done right by him, so far.
Knight Four was certain the situation had also worked out for the CS, in a twisted way. It gave them a legitimate means to test “Eli Turner.” The longer Knight Four passed their tests, the harder it became for anyone to justify taking action against him—especially when they had no evidence of any crime. The risk of ruining someone’s career over killing or even just incarcerating him, without clear proof, was a gamble no one wanted to take. Whoever Eli Turner was, it was clear he had the kind of money that could ruin careers if someone acted recklessly. Even the faceless bureaucrats had to appear to do things the 'correct' way. Knight Four was certain the CS could spy on him all they wanted, even get away with assassination as long as they camouflaged it as an accident. Beyond his wildest dreams, however, his being a CS officer confirm Xiticix fighter endeared him to enough people in the right places.
Of course, it had crossed his mind that the death of “Eli Turner” could be arranged in a training accident while he was here. Knight Four suspected that might be one of the larger reasons a messenger had been sent to him, informing him that he was required by the State to report to the local National Guard unit and submit himself for duty.
Service to the State was an obligation traditionally fulfilled by able-bodied teenagers in the Coalition States. Since the real "Eli Turner" had run away, he had never started or fulfilled that duty, but now he had the chance to make up for it—or face the consequences. Knight Four figured they were watching him, hoping he would run. Instead, he’d shown up for Drill. Now, he was in a more precarious position—easier to kill, but much harder to believe he was a threat or a traitor and harder justify.
Besides, the CS had thousands of D-Bees and even thousands of humans they could justify eliminating in the Burbs. Yet they didn’t. Why? Order. The CS loved things orderly and quiet. And, frankly, finding the right target to eliminate was harder and riskier than most were willing to undertake.
With the war in Tolkeen still raging, the Coalition's best and brightest had their attention focused on winning it.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Saturday Morning
Knight Four walked into the massage parlor, but this wasn’t the typical place he’d been to before. The air was thick with the scent of aromatic oils, and soft music filled the background, but today there was an undeniable difference.
After saying, "I'd like to feel the pull of the Ocean." The receptionist escorted 'Eli' was escorted to a room in the back.
The room was dark but D-Bee’s body elegantly twisted in the dim light. Towering at nearly seven feet tall, the alien's skin shimmered in iridescent shades of deep blues and greens, like the surface of a tranquil sea. Its light was the only light in the room. Its head was crowned with a cluster of bioluminescent tendrils, glowing faintly as it moved. Four powerful tentacles coiled and unfurled, each one expressing a grace that Eli hadn’t expected. The D-Bee’s face, though void of a traditional nose or ears, was expressive—its large, dark eyes fixed on him with a quiet, intelligent focus.
“Welcome,” is what Knight Four heard in his head, voice melodic and deep, reverberating with an almost hypnotic resonance. “I trust you will enjoy the benefits of my unique methods.”
Eli nodded, still in awe of the creature’s alien form. He’d seen cephalopod D-Bees before—on video recordings—but never up close.
“Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable,” the D-Bee continued, one of its tentacles curling in a fluid, almost gentle motion as it gestured toward the massage table.
Eli sat down on the plush, rounded table, feeling a wave of intrigue and curiosity. The massage therapist’s tentacles were not like human hands—they were far more flexible, capable of twisting, curling, and extending with incredible dexterity. As the therapist moved toward him, Eli observed how the tentacles undulated smoothly, each one alive with intent. There was an elegance in every movement that seemed almost hypnotic.
With a soft, fluid motion, the D-Bee extended two of its tentacles toward Eli’s shoulders. As the alien's skin brushed against his muscles, Eli could immediately feel a difference from any human massage he’d experienced. The tentacles were warm, covered with soft, delicate suckers that gently adhered to his skin, providing a subtle pressure. The warmth from the tentacles seeped into his muscles, a sensation that was both soothing and slightly electrifying. The tentacles moved with a rhythm unlike anything he had encountered before, their undulating motion designed to ease away stress in ways that human hands simply couldn’t.
As the D-Bee continued, Eli felt the other two tentacles shift, their movements so fluid and precise that it was as though the D-Bee was in perfect sync with his body. One tentacle glided along his spine, moving with a gentle, undulating rhythm, while the other slipped lower, across his lower back, finding the knots that had settled in the muscles from days of physical strain. The sensation was a delicate balance between pressure and stretch, a seamless blend of strength and finesse.
Each tentacle seemed to possess an intelligence of its own, responding to Eli’s body with astonishing accuracy. The first tentacle, which had settled on his spine, pressed gently at the base of his neck before moving downward, following the natural curvature of his vertebrae. As it moved, he could feel it adjusting its pressure, almost as if the D-Bee was reading the unique pattern of tension in his muscles. With each subtle change in pressure, the tentacle worked its way down, easing the tightness and smoothing the sharpness from his back. The motion was like the ebb and flow of tides—gentle yet constant, never overbearing, never too soft.
The second tentacle, the one on his lower back, worked in tandem with the first. It stretched out with long, purposeful motions, curling around his hips before stretching upward toward his ribs. There was a slight pull, a gentle stretching of his muscles that felt like a release from deep within his core. It was as if the tentacle understood where the tension had settled, and with a precise movement, it would gently coax the muscle fibers to let go. He could feel the muscles along his lower back loosen, one by one, as the tentacle slipped across them. It seemed to unfurl a hidden tightness that had been buried beneath the surface, gently lengthening and smoothing the muscles beneath his skin.
Eli marveled at the dexterity and control of the D-Bee’s tentacles. There movements were far from mechanical. There was an innate sense of empathy in the way the tentacles moved, a kind of intuitive understanding of his body’s needs. The tentacles didn’t simply apply pressure; they seemed to listen to his muscles, feeling the smallest resistance, the slightest knot, and adjusting their pressure accordingly. Each tentacle was a living extension of the D-Bee’s intelligence, navigating his body with an awareness that transcended the tactile touch of a human hand. It was as if the therapist was mapping his body, learning each tight muscle, each point of stress, and responding with tailored precision.
The ability to massage deep into his tissues with such grace and power was awe-inspiring. Eli had never experienced anything like it. With human hands, a massage could only go so deep, only relieve so much. But the tentacles, with their supple length and intricate suckers, were able to press into the deeper layers of muscle, coaxing them to release the tension in ways that would have been impossible with human hands. There was a seamless, almost hypnotic quality to the massage, a rhythm that moved through him like an ocean current, shifting and undulating, each movement a step toward deeper relaxation.
Eli's thoughts momentarily drifted as the D-Bee’s tentacles continued their methodical work, stretching and untying the knots in his body, one muscle at a time. He couldn’t help but be in awe of the creature’s grace and control. The D-Bee’s tentacles were so much more than just tools for massage—they were extensions of its will, shaped by eons of evolution to bring comfort and relief with an artistry that no human could replicate.
As the D-Bee's tentacles guided him into the stretches, Eli's body emitted soft pops and crackles, like the gentle snapping of a wooden branch under pressure, each sound signaling the release of tension from his joints and muscles.
After a while, the D-Bee paused, its glowing tendrils flickering softly as it gauged Eli’s reaction. “Are you ready to try something new?” the D-Bee asked, its voice a subtle vibration.
Eli, now completely relaxed, nodded. “Yeah, I’m game.”
The D-Bee, “Cupping is a method of increasing circulation, allowing deep healing. We will use a blend of warmth and suction.”
His body now completely at ease, and the D-Bee placed their tentacle cups on his back. Eli could feel the gentle warmth from the cups as they adhered to his skin, followed by the strange sensation of suction. It wasn’t painful, but it was different—more intense than any cupping he’d experienced before. The cups seemed to draw on his muscles, pulling the tension out with an almost rhythmic pull, like the gentle drag of ocean currents. The tentacles suction felt natural, calming.
As the cups stayed in place, the D-Bee’s other tentacles began to move across Eli’s shoulders again, kneading the remaining tight spots. There was something inherently responsive about the D-Bee’s touch—it was like the D-Bee’s body could sense every muscle, every knot, and adjust to them perfectly. Eli could feel his body shifting deeper into relaxation, almost as if the D-Bee’s tentacles were syncing with his own breathing.
The bioluminescent tendrils on the therapist’s head pulsed softly, reflecting a calm rhythm as the therapist continued. With every motion, Eli could feel his muscles unwinding, the stress and fatigue melting away as if the very touch of the alien was pulling the weight of the universe from his body. He had never felt so completely free of tension.
After a few minutes, the therapist carefully removed their cups, leaving the skin slightly reddened in circular patterns but feeling invigorated. Eli stretched his arms and legs, surprised at how light his body felt—like he was floating, as though his own tension had been siphoned away into the D-Bee’s careful, expert touch.
The D-bee therapist smiled, or at least Eli thought it did, as the bioluminescent tendrils shimmered in the soft light. “You’re welcome,” the creature said, its voice like the gentle lap of waves on a shore. “Remember, your body is a vessel—tend to it, and it will carry you farther.”
Eli nodded, feeling not just physically relaxed but mentally clear. The alien’s touch, so unlike anything human, had worked wonders. As he dressed and prepared to leave, he found himself with a sense of gratitude for this otherworldly therapist, realizing that, in this world, even something as simple as a massage could be an extraordinary experience.
Knight Four walked into the massage parlor, but this wasn’t the typical place he’d been to before. The air was thick with the scent of aromatic oils, and soft music filled the background, but today there was an undeniable difference.
After saying, "I'd like to feel the pull of the Ocean." The receptionist escorted 'Eli' was escorted to a room in the back.
The room was dark but D-Bee’s body elegantly twisted in the dim light. Towering at nearly seven feet tall, the alien's skin shimmered in iridescent shades of deep blues and greens, like the surface of a tranquil sea. Its light was the only light in the room. Its head was crowned with a cluster of bioluminescent tendrils, glowing faintly as it moved. Four powerful tentacles coiled and unfurled, each one expressing a grace that Eli hadn’t expected. The D-Bee’s face, though void of a traditional nose or ears, was expressive—its large, dark eyes fixed on him with a quiet, intelligent focus.
“Welcome,” is what Knight Four heard in his head, voice melodic and deep, reverberating with an almost hypnotic resonance. “I trust you will enjoy the benefits of my unique methods.”
Eli nodded, still in awe of the creature’s alien form. He’d seen cephalopod D-Bees before—on video recordings—but never up close.
“Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable,” the D-Bee continued, one of its tentacles curling in a fluid, almost gentle motion as it gestured toward the massage table.
Eli sat down on the plush, rounded table, feeling a wave of intrigue and curiosity. The massage therapist’s tentacles were not like human hands—they were far more flexible, capable of twisting, curling, and extending with incredible dexterity. As the therapist moved toward him, Eli observed how the tentacles undulated smoothly, each one alive with intent. There was an elegance in every movement that seemed almost hypnotic.
With a soft, fluid motion, the D-Bee extended two of its tentacles toward Eli’s shoulders. As the alien's skin brushed against his muscles, Eli could immediately feel a difference from any human massage he’d experienced. The tentacles were warm, covered with soft, delicate suckers that gently adhered to his skin, providing a subtle pressure. The warmth from the tentacles seeped into his muscles, a sensation that was both soothing and slightly electrifying. The tentacles moved with a rhythm unlike anything he had encountered before, their undulating motion designed to ease away stress in ways that human hands simply couldn’t.
As the D-Bee continued, Eli felt the other two tentacles shift, their movements so fluid and precise that it was as though the D-Bee was in perfect sync with his body. One tentacle glided along his spine, moving with a gentle, undulating rhythm, while the other slipped lower, across his lower back, finding the knots that had settled in the muscles from days of physical strain. The sensation was a delicate balance between pressure and stretch, a seamless blend of strength and finesse.
Each tentacle seemed to possess an intelligence of its own, responding to Eli’s body with astonishing accuracy. The first tentacle, which had settled on his spine, pressed gently at the base of his neck before moving downward, following the natural curvature of his vertebrae. As it moved, he could feel it adjusting its pressure, almost as if the D-Bee was reading the unique pattern of tension in his muscles. With each subtle change in pressure, the tentacle worked its way down, easing the tightness and smoothing the sharpness from his back. The motion was like the ebb and flow of tides—gentle yet constant, never overbearing, never too soft.
The second tentacle, the one on his lower back, worked in tandem with the first. It stretched out with long, purposeful motions, curling around his hips before stretching upward toward his ribs. There was a slight pull, a gentle stretching of his muscles that felt like a release from deep within his core. It was as if the tentacle understood where the tension had settled, and with a precise movement, it would gently coax the muscle fibers to let go. He could feel the muscles along his lower back loosen, one by one, as the tentacle slipped across them. It seemed to unfurl a hidden tightness that had been buried beneath the surface, gently lengthening and smoothing the muscles beneath his skin.
Eli marveled at the dexterity and control of the D-Bee’s tentacles. There movements were far from mechanical. There was an innate sense of empathy in the way the tentacles moved, a kind of intuitive understanding of his body’s needs. The tentacles didn’t simply apply pressure; they seemed to listen to his muscles, feeling the smallest resistance, the slightest knot, and adjusting their pressure accordingly. Each tentacle was a living extension of the D-Bee’s intelligence, navigating his body with an awareness that transcended the tactile touch of a human hand. It was as if the therapist was mapping his body, learning each tight muscle, each point of stress, and responding with tailored precision.
The ability to massage deep into his tissues with such grace and power was awe-inspiring. Eli had never experienced anything like it. With human hands, a massage could only go so deep, only relieve so much. But the tentacles, with their supple length and intricate suckers, were able to press into the deeper layers of muscle, coaxing them to release the tension in ways that would have been impossible with human hands. There was a seamless, almost hypnotic quality to the massage, a rhythm that moved through him like an ocean current, shifting and undulating, each movement a step toward deeper relaxation.
Eli's thoughts momentarily drifted as the D-Bee’s tentacles continued their methodical work, stretching and untying the knots in his body, one muscle at a time. He couldn’t help but be in awe of the creature’s grace and control. The D-Bee’s tentacles were so much more than just tools for massage—they were extensions of its will, shaped by eons of evolution to bring comfort and relief with an artistry that no human could replicate.
As the D-Bee's tentacles guided him into the stretches, Eli's body emitted soft pops and crackles, like the gentle snapping of a wooden branch under pressure, each sound signaling the release of tension from his joints and muscles.
After a while, the D-Bee paused, its glowing tendrils flickering softly as it gauged Eli’s reaction. “Are you ready to try something new?” the D-Bee asked, its voice a subtle vibration.
Eli, now completely relaxed, nodded. “Yeah, I’m game.”
The D-Bee, “Cupping is a method of increasing circulation, allowing deep healing. We will use a blend of warmth and suction.”
His body now completely at ease, and the D-Bee placed their tentacle cups on his back. Eli could feel the gentle warmth from the cups as they adhered to his skin, followed by the strange sensation of suction. It wasn’t painful, but it was different—more intense than any cupping he’d experienced before. The cups seemed to draw on his muscles, pulling the tension out with an almost rhythmic pull, like the gentle drag of ocean currents. The tentacles suction felt natural, calming.
As the cups stayed in place, the D-Bee’s other tentacles began to move across Eli’s shoulders again, kneading the remaining tight spots. There was something inherently responsive about the D-Bee’s touch—it was like the D-Bee’s body could sense every muscle, every knot, and adjust to them perfectly. Eli could feel his body shifting deeper into relaxation, almost as if the D-Bee’s tentacles were syncing with his own breathing.
The bioluminescent tendrils on the therapist’s head pulsed softly, reflecting a calm rhythm as the therapist continued. With every motion, Eli could feel his muscles unwinding, the stress and fatigue melting away as if the very touch of the alien was pulling the weight of the universe from his body. He had never felt so completely free of tension.
After a few minutes, the therapist carefully removed their cups, leaving the skin slightly reddened in circular patterns but feeling invigorated. Eli stretched his arms and legs, surprised at how light his body felt—like he was floating, as though his own tension had been siphoned away into the D-Bee’s careful, expert touch.
The D-bee therapist smiled, or at least Eli thought it did, as the bioluminescent tendrils shimmered in the soft light. “You’re welcome,” the creature said, its voice like the gentle lap of waves on a shore. “Remember, your body is a vessel—tend to it, and it will carry you farther.”
Eli nodded, feeling not just physically relaxed but mentally clear. The alien’s touch, so unlike anything human, had worked wonders. As he dressed and prepared to leave, he found himself with a sense of gratitude for this otherworldly therapist, realizing that, in this world, even something as simple as a massage could be an extraordinary experience.
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darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: Outside the Spa
As Knight Four walked out of the massage spa, his muscles relaxed, his mind at ease. The scent of neon, wet pavement, and faint traces of incense still lingered on him. He had been looking forward to seeing a woman, but as he stepped into the parking lot, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck poke. It was one of those mornings; trouble was coming his way.
His electric car was parked just a few yards away. The valet, a man with dark circles under his eyes, handed over the keys with a tired grin. Knight Four slipped a few credits into the man’s hand as he waved off the thanks.
Then he heard the motorcycles.
Two sleek, black machines with tinted helmets idled at the entrance of the lot, engines revving in a synchronized growl. Knight Four’s Sixth Sense screamed. As he approached his car, the low hum of their engines morphed into something more predatory—like a wolf closing in on its prey. They were too still, too quiet.
Knight Four reached for the door handle, his fingers brushing the cold, smooth surface when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Three men, dressed in black leathers, their faces obscured by masks, were advancing on him. The lookouts on the bikes had positioned themselves perfectly—one to each side, forming an intimidating circle. They were too close now.
He knew what was coming.
He yanked open the door of his car, slamming it into one of the would-be robbers just as he reached for the handle. The door made contact with the man’s chest, knocking him back with a grunt. The other two weren’t far behind, moving fast as shadows under the flickering lights, but Knight Four was already one step ahead. He slid into the seat, locking the door before the man could reach it.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, rich boy," one of the men hissed, pulling a knife from his jacket.
Knight Four didn’t flinch.
He hit the ignition button, and the car roared to life. The engine hummed like a predator coming to life, its electric power instantly filling the air with a pulse of quiet danger. But before Knight Four could put it in reverse, the sound of a sickening crack echoed through the air—the thug had smashed his fist against the driver’s side window, sending shards of glass raining down onto the seat.
He didn’t have time to react.
The car lurched forward, its tires screeching as Knight Four floored it. The vehicle shot forward with a burst of unrelenting speed, leaving the stunned gang member scrambling to stay on his feet. But there was one on top of him.
The man, realizing he was losing ground, scrambled up onto the hood of the car with surprising agility. Knight Four’s foot slammed on the pedal as the car tore down the street, the man’s fingers digging into the metal for purchase. His face twisted with rage, ready to smash the windshield.
A smile curled on Knight Four's lips, a brief flash of icy confidence as he shifted his eyes. The "Evil Eye." With a sharp, deliberate glance, Knight Four fixed his gaze on the man who had climbed onto his hood.
The effect was instant.
The gang member’s body froze, rigid and completely paralyzed. His face locked in shock as he felt his muscles betray him, unable to move, unable to speak. He was suspended in time as if the very force of Knight Four's will had locked him in place. Knight Four’s foot pressed harder onto the accelerator, the car now barreling down the narrow streets with immense speed.
In the rearview mirror, Knight Four could see the two motorcycles roaring into action, their engines screeching in pursuit as they followed closely behind, the gang members in their wake jumping into their own car.
Knight Four’s hands were steady on the wheel as the gang’s car revved to life, closing in. The bikes were in hot pursuit, their riders weaving between the crowded streets, trying to flank Knight Four from both sides.
Knight Four’s hands were steady on the wheel as the gang’s car revved to life, closing in. The bikes were relentless, their riders weaving between the crowded streets, trying to flank Knight Four from both sides.
He didn’t need to look back; he could feel the heat of the chase. The cars in front were moving in a blur, their headlights casting jagged shadows along the narrow streets. The air hummed with the electric thrum of his own car as it surged forward, silently but with the kind of power that made the asphalt tremble beneath the tires.
“No more playing around,” Knight Four muttered under his breath.
The first motorcycle came at him fast—its rider was a blur of leather and chrome, a dark silhouette. The hum of the engine cut through the night, aggressive and shrill. Knight Four barely flinched as the bike pulled up to his left side, the rider leaning forward, trying to box him in.
He slammed his foot down, sending the car into a hard left turn. The tires squealed, the car jerking sideways as it drifted around the corner. The motorcycle veered too late, scraping the curb with a metallic screech. But Knight Four wasn’t done. His car straightened out in an instant, the steering responsive to his command.
In the rearview, the gang’s car came at him like a freight train, pushing through traffic, relentlessly trying to close the gap. The bikes were closing in, one trailing on the right, the other behind. A perfect pincer, closing in from both ends.
Knight Four’s eyes narrowed. He’d been in situations like this before, but this was different—his gut told him they were more desperate than usual. He could feel the car’s systems syncing with his own body. It was like an extension of his thoughts. Every move, every turn, was natural, flowing as if the road itself bent to his will.
Another sharp left.
The tires screamed again, the back of the car kicking out as he threw it into a drift. The gang car was too close, now only a few feet behind him, its headlights blinding in the mirror. A glimmer of steel from the first motorcycle flashed by his side, the rider leaning down, trying to squeeze past.
Knight Four’s foot slammed harder onto the accelerator.
The car roared forward, engines whining, the quiet hum of electric power breaking into a roar as he pushed the speed past what was comfortable. The gang car tried to follow, its tires sliding as the driver fought to maintain control, but it couldn’t keep up. The motorcycles had no chance now—Knight Four was pulling away.
He threaded through a maze of side streets, the asphalt a ribbon beneath him. Another corner came up fast, and this time he didn’t brake, didn’t hesitate. He took it wide, letting the car drift just shy of slamming into the brick wall on the left. The gang’s car tried to follow, but it didn’t have the reflexes. The screech of tires was followed by the sound of metal slamming into a dumpster as the driver overcompensated, missing the turn.
Knight Four’s grip tightened on the wheel.
The second motorcycle came at him again, but Knight Four was ready. His foot slammed down on the brake. The car's regenerative system kicked in, feeding energy into the battery as the car slowed just enough for the bike to almost pass. Then he spun the wheel, throwing the car into a sharp right. The bike’s rider had no time to react. The motorcycle tried to swerve, but it was too late. Knight Four’s back tire clipped the bike, sending it skidding out of control.
The rider slid across the road, his body tumbling in the blink of an eye, before crashing into a parked car with a sickening crunch. Knight Four didn’t look back.
He hit the accelerator again, the car surging forward, slicing through the streets like a blade.
Behind him, the sound of the gang’s car struggling to catch up—its engine roaring, tires screeching, but it was already too far behind. The pursuit was losing steam, the car unable to match Knight Four’s agility. The bikes were gone, their riders either down or lost in the chaos.
Ahead, the roads opened up—wider now, but still filled with obstacles. Knight Four threaded through the alleys, swerving past roadblocks and a group of pedestrians, feeling the rush of the car as it took each turn with perfect precision.
The sound of the gang’s car faded.
Knight Four’s car screamed ahead, passing into a section of the city where the streets were lined with flashing neon and empty storefronts. The city was an endless blur of lights and shadows now, the car’s motion smooth and silent, the world outside just a flickering painting.
He glanced at the rearview again, just as the last of the pursuers vanished from view.
Knight Four took a deep breath, his pulse still steady, his grip on the wheel relaxed.
Knight Four’s foot hovered over the brake, the car still moving fast, but as the paralysis from his Bio-manipulation began to fade from the man clinging to the hood of the car, Knight Four acted swiftly.
With practiced speed, he reached up and pulled the man’s arms from the hood, using the gang member’s momentum to his advantage. He twisted the man’s arms behind his back with a sharp, sudden yank. A grunt of pain escaped the man’s lips as he struggled, but the ride had left him exhausted. Knight Four’s grip tightened on the gang member’s wrist, his other hand snaking around to disarm him before the man could reach for his weapon. The knife, sleek and sharp, was tossed aside with a flick of Knight Four’s wrist.
The gang member cursed under his breath, still dizzy. He tried to lunge for the door, but Knight Four was faster. With one sharp push, he threw him off the hood, sending the man sprawling to the ground in a heap. The car came to a screeching halt just a few feet away, and Knight Four flung open the door, stepping out onto the cracked street.
“Get up,” Knight Four growled, his voice low and commanding.
The man slowly staggered to his feet, his knees shaking. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead where he had struck the ground. He glared at Knight Four, but there was no fire left in his eyes. He was already calculating how much pain he’d have to endure before he let him go.
Knight Four pressed the gun into the man’s side, just enough to make him understand he wasn’t dealing with a victim. He pushed the man backward toward the front of the car, making sure he didn’t reach for anything again.
“Let me go,” the gang member muttered, but his voice wavered.
Knight Four locked his eyes on the man, scanning him for any telltale signs of fear. There was still defiance there, but Knight Four’s gaze was like a vice. He’d break the man’s resolve with time, if necessary.
“Why the hell would you think I’m an easy target?” Knight Four demanded.
The gang member sneered. “You’re alone. Car’s worth something. You don’t belong here—anyone can see that.” His voice came out sharp, like it was part of a script he had rehearsed.
Knight Four’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So you think you can just grab me, take my stuff, and run off with it? That what you’re telling me?”
The man glanced around nervously, clearly uncomfortable under Knight Four's steady gaze. He didn’t want to break, but the fear was setting in. He was on the losing side now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man... just a robbery. Nothing personal,” he said, but it lacked conviction. He was trying to keep his mouth shut, but the fear in his eyes was evident.
Knight Four stepped closer, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Tell me why you were there when I was getting to my car?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Because if you think I’ll let you go after what you tried to do, you’re wrong.”
The gang member’s eyes flickered over to the ground.
The man asked, his voice wavering now. "You think you’ve got some kinda power over me?”
Knight Four let the silence stretch, allowing the tension to grow. He wasn’t in a rush. The man would crack eventually. He just needed to apply the right kind of pressure. “I don’t let anyone go, until I get what I need. You can either make this real easy or... REAL hard.”
The gang member’s breath quickened.
“The valet. He called us. We were just supposed to take your car.”
Knight Four’s fist tightened on the grip of his gun. The valet. Of course. He’d had a bad feeling about the man when he’d handed over the keys. A gut instinct. But this confirmation was something else.
“It’s just the gang. The boss was gonna sell the car. Chop-shop, real quick. But the valet... he set the whole thing up. He knew you’d be an easy mark. You walked out of that spa, wearing those clothes, alone. Too good of a target. Cars like that don’t just show up on these streets without someone wanting it.”
The man in front of him was sweating now, barely holding himself upright. He was no longer the threatening figure, but a scared individual with a secret. Knight Four could feel the fear hanging in the air, thick and heavy, like smoke before a fire.
“What happens next?” the man asked nervously.
Knight Four didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak at first, considering the options. He subtly planted a tracking device on him. The gang member’s would be his guide. But the valet? IF it was not a lie. He’d be dealt with later.
Knight Four stepped back, keeping the gun trained on the gang member’s chest. “Get out of my sight.”
The man hesitated, then took a step back, fear evident in every movement. He glanced around one last time, looking for a way to flee, but the streets were quiet now. It was just him and Knight Four.
“Go,” Knight Four ordered.
The man didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and staggered down the street, not looking back. He was still alive. That was more than he deserved.
Knight Four watched him run away before he turned to face the road ahead. He’d get the valet later, but for now, his work was done. He wasn’t going to be an easy target for anyone, and he made sure the world knew it.
As he got back into the car, the engine humming to life, Knight Four kept his eyes forward. The streets of Mayhem were always full of surprises, but he was more than ready for whatever came next.
As Knight Four walked out of the massage spa, his muscles relaxed, his mind at ease. The scent of neon, wet pavement, and faint traces of incense still lingered on him. He had been looking forward to seeing a woman, but as he stepped into the parking lot, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck poke. It was one of those mornings; trouble was coming his way.
His electric car was parked just a few yards away. The valet, a man with dark circles under his eyes, handed over the keys with a tired grin. Knight Four slipped a few credits into the man’s hand as he waved off the thanks.
Then he heard the motorcycles.
Two sleek, black machines with tinted helmets idled at the entrance of the lot, engines revving in a synchronized growl. Knight Four’s Sixth Sense screamed. As he approached his car, the low hum of their engines morphed into something more predatory—like a wolf closing in on its prey. They were too still, too quiet.
Knight Four reached for the door handle, his fingers brushing the cold, smooth surface when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Three men, dressed in black leathers, their faces obscured by masks, were advancing on him. The lookouts on the bikes had positioned themselves perfectly—one to each side, forming an intimidating circle. They were too close now.
He knew what was coming.
He yanked open the door of his car, slamming it into one of the would-be robbers just as he reached for the handle. The door made contact with the man’s chest, knocking him back with a grunt. The other two weren’t far behind, moving fast as shadows under the flickering lights, but Knight Four was already one step ahead. He slid into the seat, locking the door before the man could reach it.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, rich boy," one of the men hissed, pulling a knife from his jacket.
Knight Four didn’t flinch.
He hit the ignition button, and the car roared to life. The engine hummed like a predator coming to life, its electric power instantly filling the air with a pulse of quiet danger. But before Knight Four could put it in reverse, the sound of a sickening crack echoed through the air—the thug had smashed his fist against the driver’s side window, sending shards of glass raining down onto the seat.
He didn’t have time to react.
The car lurched forward, its tires screeching as Knight Four floored it. The vehicle shot forward with a burst of unrelenting speed, leaving the stunned gang member scrambling to stay on his feet. But there was one on top of him.
The man, realizing he was losing ground, scrambled up onto the hood of the car with surprising agility. Knight Four’s foot slammed on the pedal as the car tore down the street, the man’s fingers digging into the metal for purchase. His face twisted with rage, ready to smash the windshield.
A smile curled on Knight Four's lips, a brief flash of icy confidence as he shifted his eyes. The "Evil Eye." With a sharp, deliberate glance, Knight Four fixed his gaze on the man who had climbed onto his hood.
The effect was instant.
The gang member’s body froze, rigid and completely paralyzed. His face locked in shock as he felt his muscles betray him, unable to move, unable to speak. He was suspended in time as if the very force of Knight Four's will had locked him in place. Knight Four’s foot pressed harder onto the accelerator, the car now barreling down the narrow streets with immense speed.
In the rearview mirror, Knight Four could see the two motorcycles roaring into action, their engines screeching in pursuit as they followed closely behind, the gang members in their wake jumping into their own car.
Knight Four’s hands were steady on the wheel as the gang’s car revved to life, closing in. The bikes were in hot pursuit, their riders weaving between the crowded streets, trying to flank Knight Four from both sides.
Knight Four’s hands were steady on the wheel as the gang’s car revved to life, closing in. The bikes were relentless, their riders weaving between the crowded streets, trying to flank Knight Four from both sides.
He didn’t need to look back; he could feel the heat of the chase. The cars in front were moving in a blur, their headlights casting jagged shadows along the narrow streets. The air hummed with the electric thrum of his own car as it surged forward, silently but with the kind of power that made the asphalt tremble beneath the tires.
“No more playing around,” Knight Four muttered under his breath.
The first motorcycle came at him fast—its rider was a blur of leather and chrome, a dark silhouette. The hum of the engine cut through the night, aggressive and shrill. Knight Four barely flinched as the bike pulled up to his left side, the rider leaning forward, trying to box him in.
He slammed his foot down, sending the car into a hard left turn. The tires squealed, the car jerking sideways as it drifted around the corner. The motorcycle veered too late, scraping the curb with a metallic screech. But Knight Four wasn’t done. His car straightened out in an instant, the steering responsive to his command.
In the rearview, the gang’s car came at him like a freight train, pushing through traffic, relentlessly trying to close the gap. The bikes were closing in, one trailing on the right, the other behind. A perfect pincer, closing in from both ends.
Knight Four’s eyes narrowed. He’d been in situations like this before, but this was different—his gut told him they were more desperate than usual. He could feel the car’s systems syncing with his own body. It was like an extension of his thoughts. Every move, every turn, was natural, flowing as if the road itself bent to his will.
Another sharp left.
The tires screamed again, the back of the car kicking out as he threw it into a drift. The gang car was too close, now only a few feet behind him, its headlights blinding in the mirror. A glimmer of steel from the first motorcycle flashed by his side, the rider leaning down, trying to squeeze past.
Knight Four’s foot slammed harder onto the accelerator.
The car roared forward, engines whining, the quiet hum of electric power breaking into a roar as he pushed the speed past what was comfortable. The gang car tried to follow, its tires sliding as the driver fought to maintain control, but it couldn’t keep up. The motorcycles had no chance now—Knight Four was pulling away.
He threaded through a maze of side streets, the asphalt a ribbon beneath him. Another corner came up fast, and this time he didn’t brake, didn’t hesitate. He took it wide, letting the car drift just shy of slamming into the brick wall on the left. The gang’s car tried to follow, but it didn’t have the reflexes. The screech of tires was followed by the sound of metal slamming into a dumpster as the driver overcompensated, missing the turn.
Knight Four’s grip tightened on the wheel.
The second motorcycle came at him again, but Knight Four was ready. His foot slammed down on the brake. The car's regenerative system kicked in, feeding energy into the battery as the car slowed just enough for the bike to almost pass. Then he spun the wheel, throwing the car into a sharp right. The bike’s rider had no time to react. The motorcycle tried to swerve, but it was too late. Knight Four’s back tire clipped the bike, sending it skidding out of control.
The rider slid across the road, his body tumbling in the blink of an eye, before crashing into a parked car with a sickening crunch. Knight Four didn’t look back.
He hit the accelerator again, the car surging forward, slicing through the streets like a blade.
Behind him, the sound of the gang’s car struggling to catch up—its engine roaring, tires screeching, but it was already too far behind. The pursuit was losing steam, the car unable to match Knight Four’s agility. The bikes were gone, their riders either down or lost in the chaos.
Ahead, the roads opened up—wider now, but still filled with obstacles. Knight Four threaded through the alleys, swerving past roadblocks and a group of pedestrians, feeling the rush of the car as it took each turn with perfect precision.
The sound of the gang’s car faded.
Knight Four’s car screamed ahead, passing into a section of the city where the streets were lined with flashing neon and empty storefronts. The city was an endless blur of lights and shadows now, the car’s motion smooth and silent, the world outside just a flickering painting.
He glanced at the rearview again, just as the last of the pursuers vanished from view.
Knight Four took a deep breath, his pulse still steady, his grip on the wheel relaxed.
Knight Four’s foot hovered over the brake, the car still moving fast, but as the paralysis from his Bio-manipulation began to fade from the man clinging to the hood of the car, Knight Four acted swiftly.
With practiced speed, he reached up and pulled the man’s arms from the hood, using the gang member’s momentum to his advantage. He twisted the man’s arms behind his back with a sharp, sudden yank. A grunt of pain escaped the man’s lips as he struggled, but the ride had left him exhausted. Knight Four’s grip tightened on the gang member’s wrist, his other hand snaking around to disarm him before the man could reach for his weapon. The knife, sleek and sharp, was tossed aside with a flick of Knight Four’s wrist.
The gang member cursed under his breath, still dizzy. He tried to lunge for the door, but Knight Four was faster. With one sharp push, he threw him off the hood, sending the man sprawling to the ground in a heap. The car came to a screeching halt just a few feet away, and Knight Four flung open the door, stepping out onto the cracked street.
“Get up,” Knight Four growled, his voice low and commanding.
The man slowly staggered to his feet, his knees shaking. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead where he had struck the ground. He glared at Knight Four, but there was no fire left in his eyes. He was already calculating how much pain he’d have to endure before he let him go.
Knight Four pressed the gun into the man’s side, just enough to make him understand he wasn’t dealing with a victim. He pushed the man backward toward the front of the car, making sure he didn’t reach for anything again.
“Let me go,” the gang member muttered, but his voice wavered.
Knight Four locked his eyes on the man, scanning him for any telltale signs of fear. There was still defiance there, but Knight Four’s gaze was like a vice. He’d break the man’s resolve with time, if necessary.
“Why the hell would you think I’m an easy target?” Knight Four demanded.
The gang member sneered. “You’re alone. Car’s worth something. You don’t belong here—anyone can see that.” His voice came out sharp, like it was part of a script he had rehearsed.
Knight Four’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So you think you can just grab me, take my stuff, and run off with it? That what you’re telling me?”
The man glanced around nervously, clearly uncomfortable under Knight Four's steady gaze. He didn’t want to break, but the fear was setting in. He was on the losing side now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man... just a robbery. Nothing personal,” he said, but it lacked conviction. He was trying to keep his mouth shut, but the fear in his eyes was evident.
Knight Four stepped closer, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Tell me why you were there when I was getting to my car?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Because if you think I’ll let you go after what you tried to do, you’re wrong.”
The gang member’s eyes flickered over to the ground.
The man asked, his voice wavering now. "You think you’ve got some kinda power over me?”
Knight Four let the silence stretch, allowing the tension to grow. He wasn’t in a rush. The man would crack eventually. He just needed to apply the right kind of pressure. “I don’t let anyone go, until I get what I need. You can either make this real easy or... REAL hard.”
The gang member’s breath quickened.
“The valet. He called us. We were just supposed to take your car.”
Knight Four’s fist tightened on the grip of his gun. The valet. Of course. He’d had a bad feeling about the man when he’d handed over the keys. A gut instinct. But this confirmation was something else.
“It’s just the gang. The boss was gonna sell the car. Chop-shop, real quick. But the valet... he set the whole thing up. He knew you’d be an easy mark. You walked out of that spa, wearing those clothes, alone. Too good of a target. Cars like that don’t just show up on these streets without someone wanting it.”
The man in front of him was sweating now, barely holding himself upright. He was no longer the threatening figure, but a scared individual with a secret. Knight Four could feel the fear hanging in the air, thick and heavy, like smoke before a fire.
“What happens next?” the man asked nervously.
Knight Four didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak at first, considering the options. He subtly planted a tracking device on him. The gang member’s would be his guide. But the valet? IF it was not a lie. He’d be dealt with later.
Knight Four stepped back, keeping the gun trained on the gang member’s chest. “Get out of my sight.”
The man hesitated, then took a step back, fear evident in every movement. He glanced around one last time, looking for a way to flee, but the streets were quiet now. It was just him and Knight Four.
“Go,” Knight Four ordered.
The man didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and staggered down the street, not looking back. He was still alive. That was more than he deserved.
Knight Four watched him run away before he turned to face the road ahead. He’d get the valet later, but for now, his work was done. He wasn’t going to be an easy target for anyone, and he made sure the world knew it.
As he got back into the car, the engine humming to life, Knight Four kept his eyes forward. The streets of Mayhem were always full of surprises, but he was more than ready for whatever came next.
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darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: The Wild Card Casino Hotel
The lounge was quiet, and the only sound was the soft music playing from a distant speaker. Azar sat in a plush chair, her gaze wandering over the crowd. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her glass, but her thoughts were focused on one thing—HIM.
It had been a week since she’d last seen him. A whole week of aching anticipation, knowing that the enigmatic, muscle-bound force of nature she had come to crave, was finally back. And tonight, she would have him again.
The door to the lounge swung open, and there he was.
Azar’s breath hitched the moment her eyes found him. He stood in the doorway, tall and powerful in his military uniform, his broad shoulders filling out the fabric perfectly. The crisp edges of his uniform, the precise way it clung to his body, only added to the allure of his already undeniable presence.
But it wasn’t the uniform that made her pulse quicken. It was him. The man who owned her every thought.
His eyes scanned the room, but it was only when they locked onto hers that everything else faded away. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable—desire, confidence, a hunger that hadn’t dulled in the time apart. The brief, almost imperceptible flicker in his expression told her everything she needed to know. He wanted her. And there was nothing in the world that could stop him from taking her.
Azar’s heart thumped louder in her chest, her body already reacting to his presence.
---
Knight Four could feel her gaze even before he turned around to meet it, and when he finally did, it was almost as if the air had thickened around them. Her eyes were intense, almost burning with a desire that made his heart beat just a little faster. Azar was standing a few feet away, but she had already made her presence known. There was something magnetic about her.
Her appearance was striking. She had a confidence that seemed to emanate from every inch of her. Azar was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and there was no mistaking the way she seemed to savor the view of him in his military uniform.
---
He moved toward her without hesitation, his stride purposeful, his gaze never wavering from hers. He didn’t need to say a word.
When he finally reached her, he didn’t stop. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need permission. In a swift motion, he reached down, his strong hands gripping her waist with an ease that made her stomach tighten with a familiar rush of electricity. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms. No asking. Just pure, unfiltered need.
Azar didn’t resist. She didn’t move to stop him, not when his scent was already intoxicating her, not when she could feel the heat radiating off his body, warming her skin. She’d known this would happen. They were accustomed to this—this raw, unspoken connection they shared. She could feel the power in his arms, the sheer muscle beneath his uniform, and the certainty in the way he held her. He was a man who took what he wanted, and he wanted her.
If she wanted him to stop, if she wanted to protest, she knew exactly what she could do. The gun tucked into her waistband was within reach, her finger would just need to curl around the cold steel for a second. Or she could shout for help, though they both knew that was never going to happen.
Azar wasn’t going to stop him.
There was no room for hesitation. The moment he touched her, she was already his.
His gaze never faltered as he carried her through the lounge. He moved with purpose, his steps sure, confident, like the world was his and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way. They passed through the doorway and into the hall, his arms around her never loosening.
Her breath caught as she leaned into him, the solid strength of his chest pressing against hers. This. This was what she’d been craving. The heat that only he could bring. Her hands, still on his shoulders, slid up his neck, the fabric of his uniform smooth under her fingertips.
As they reached the elevator, he pressed the button without a second thought, his eyes on hers as the doors slid shut. Azar’s fingers found the button to their floor, pressing it with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.
He was a force of nature, and in his arms, she was swept away. The world outside was irrelevant. Nothing mattered except the hunger, the desire, the urgency that rippled between them.
The doors of the elevator closed, and as the sound of the floor button pressed echoed in the small space, his lips brushed against her ear, a low, dangerous promise hanging in the air.
When they reached their floor, there would be no more pretense. There would be no more barriers. There would be nothing but them. The world could wait.
But for now, all that mattered was the feel of him holding her. And she wasn’t about to stop him.
The lounge was quiet, and the only sound was the soft music playing from a distant speaker. Azar sat in a plush chair, her gaze wandering over the crowd. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her glass, but her thoughts were focused on one thing—HIM.
It had been a week since she’d last seen him. A whole week of aching anticipation, knowing that the enigmatic, muscle-bound force of nature she had come to crave, was finally back. And tonight, she would have him again.
The door to the lounge swung open, and there he was.
Azar’s breath hitched the moment her eyes found him. He stood in the doorway, tall and powerful in his military uniform, his broad shoulders filling out the fabric perfectly. The crisp edges of his uniform, the precise way it clung to his body, only added to the allure of his already undeniable presence.
But it wasn’t the uniform that made her pulse quicken. It was him. The man who owned her every thought.
His eyes scanned the room, but it was only when they locked onto hers that everything else faded away. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable—desire, confidence, a hunger that hadn’t dulled in the time apart. The brief, almost imperceptible flicker in his expression told her everything she needed to know. He wanted her. And there was nothing in the world that could stop him from taking her.
Azar’s heart thumped louder in her chest, her body already reacting to his presence.
---
Knight Four could feel her gaze even before he turned around to meet it, and when he finally did, it was almost as if the air had thickened around them. Her eyes were intense, almost burning with a desire that made his heart beat just a little faster. Azar was standing a few feet away, but she had already made her presence known. There was something magnetic about her.
Her appearance was striking. She had a confidence that seemed to emanate from every inch of her. Azar was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and there was no mistaking the way she seemed to savor the view of him in his military uniform.
---
He moved toward her without hesitation, his stride purposeful, his gaze never wavering from hers. He didn’t need to say a word.
When he finally reached her, he didn’t stop. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need permission. In a swift motion, he reached down, his strong hands gripping her waist with an ease that made her stomach tighten with a familiar rush of electricity. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms. No asking. Just pure, unfiltered need.
Azar didn’t resist. She didn’t move to stop him, not when his scent was already intoxicating her, not when she could feel the heat radiating off his body, warming her skin. She’d known this would happen. They were accustomed to this—this raw, unspoken connection they shared. She could feel the power in his arms, the sheer muscle beneath his uniform, and the certainty in the way he held her. He was a man who took what he wanted, and he wanted her.
If she wanted him to stop, if she wanted to protest, she knew exactly what she could do. The gun tucked into her waistband was within reach, her finger would just need to curl around the cold steel for a second. Or she could shout for help, though they both knew that was never going to happen.
Azar wasn’t going to stop him.
There was no room for hesitation. The moment he touched her, she was already his.
His gaze never faltered as he carried her through the lounge. He moved with purpose, his steps sure, confident, like the world was his and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way. They passed through the doorway and into the hall, his arms around her never loosening.
Her breath caught as she leaned into him, the solid strength of his chest pressing against hers. This. This was what she’d been craving. The heat that only he could bring. Her hands, still on his shoulders, slid up his neck, the fabric of his uniform smooth under her fingertips.
As they reached the elevator, he pressed the button without a second thought, his eyes on hers as the doors slid shut. Azar’s fingers found the button to their floor, pressing it with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.
He was a force of nature, and in his arms, she was swept away. The world outside was irrelevant. Nothing mattered except the hunger, the desire, the urgency that rippled between them.
The doors of the elevator closed, and as the sound of the floor button pressed echoed in the small space, his lips brushed against her ear, a low, dangerous promise hanging in the air.
When they reached their floor, there would be no more pretense. There would be no more barriers. There would be nothing but them. The world could wait.
But for now, all that mattered was the feel of him holding her. And she wasn’t about to stop him.
-
darthauthor
- Champion
- Posts: 2028
- Joined: Sun Jan 05, 2020 8:55 pm
Re: Mystic Knight Merc Squad
Location: The hotel room, Wild Card Casino.
Sunday Morning
His eyes fluttered open to the soft, early morning light creeping in through the curtains. His mind was still groggy from the night before, the remnants of his passionate escape lingering in the haze of sleep. His body was heavy, satisfied, still basking in the warmth of the encounter with Azar.
She was an escape, a fire, a raw intensity that matched his own ferocity.
He could feel the softness of her body against his, the rise and fall of her breath in time with his own. Azar was still asleep, her back turned to him, her dark, wavy hair cascading across the pillow, her curves in all the right ways.
For a moment, he allowed himself to simply feel her—the warmth of her skin, the delicate scent of her perfume, and the undeniable attraction that surged through him whenever they were together. His arm had draped across her body, his fingers just brushing the curve of her waist as he cuddled her closer in his sleep. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep like this, but…
But as the moments passed, Knight Four’s mind began to clear. He stared her slender form nestled in the sheets. She had become more than a mere distraction, she kept his attention when he was in her presence.
Oh, sh!t. His thoughts jolted him awake with clarity. If I don’t stop this, I might actually grow some feelings for her.
The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. With Azar, it had always been about the physical, the fleeting satisfaction of intimacy that allowed him to escape his own turmoil. But now? He was tangled in something more dangerous—feelings. Something more than the lust that had initially brought them together.
Knight Four shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, as his mind raced. I can’t get involved. Not with her. He had seen the spark of passion in her eyes, the fire that mirrored his own, but he knew that she wasn’t ‘just’ here for the same reasons. She had her own agenda, her own motivations. She wasn’t just a woman who could ignite his desires—she was someone who could potentially use his desires to use him.
The heat between them had always been undeniable, and for a moment, He had allowed himself to feel that intense connection once more—the way her body responded to his touch, the way her fiery temperament mirrored his own instincts. But now, the cold reality of the situation began to settle in.
He gently withdrew his arm from around her, trying not to wake her, but the tension in his chest was growing. Was she the type to manipulate someone like him? To use his hunger, as a tool for her own designs? His mind lingered on the possibility, but before he could go any further, Azar stirred.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she shifted slightly, her back still to him. He froze, watching her, his heart beating a little faster now. She seemed so, so…
He had to remember—this wasn’t real. The connection they shared was all fire, something that burned intensely but had no place in his real life.
Azar’s voice came low and groggy as she rolled onto her back, her eyes blinking slowly open. Her gaze met his, a lazy smile forming on her lips. “You’re still here, huh?”
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, forcing a smile to his lips.
Her eyes sparkled with the same passion that had always drawn him in. But his mind quickly snapped back. This was dangerous. This wasn’t just some fling.
He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than he intended. “I’ll be heading out soon.”
Azar’s expression softened, and there was something vulnerable in her gaze that Eli couldn’t ignore. For a split second, he considered staying. Staying with her. But then reality slammed back into his mind. He couldn’t let this go any further.
“I’ll see you next week,” he said, standing up, his voice suddenly colder than it had been just moments ago. “You know the drill.”
Azar’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she masked it, her fiery personality quickly taking over. “You always leave me wanting more,” she purred, her eyes never leaving him.
He didn’t respond, not wanting to make the moment any harder than it already was.
But as he turned and walked toward the door, he couldn’t help but glance back at her. She was lying there, watching him with those smoldering eyes, the very embodiment of everything he desired, and yet… he knew better.
If he didn’t stop this...
Sunday Morning
His eyes fluttered open to the soft, early morning light creeping in through the curtains. His mind was still groggy from the night before, the remnants of his passionate escape lingering in the haze of sleep. His body was heavy, satisfied, still basking in the warmth of the encounter with Azar.
She was an escape, a fire, a raw intensity that matched his own ferocity.
He could feel the softness of her body against his, the rise and fall of her breath in time with his own. Azar was still asleep, her back turned to him, her dark, wavy hair cascading across the pillow, her curves in all the right ways.
For a moment, he allowed himself to simply feel her—the warmth of her skin, the delicate scent of her perfume, and the undeniable attraction that surged through him whenever they were together. His arm had draped across her body, his fingers just brushing the curve of her waist as he cuddled her closer in his sleep. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep like this, but…
But as the moments passed, Knight Four’s mind began to clear. He stared her slender form nestled in the sheets. She had become more than a mere distraction, she kept his attention when he was in her presence.
Oh, sh!t. His thoughts jolted him awake with clarity. If I don’t stop this, I might actually grow some feelings for her.
The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. With Azar, it had always been about the physical, the fleeting satisfaction of intimacy that allowed him to escape his own turmoil. But now? He was tangled in something more dangerous—feelings. Something more than the lust that had initially brought them together.
Knight Four shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, as his mind raced. I can’t get involved. Not with her. He had seen the spark of passion in her eyes, the fire that mirrored his own, but he knew that she wasn’t ‘just’ here for the same reasons. She had her own agenda, her own motivations. She wasn’t just a woman who could ignite his desires—she was someone who could potentially use his desires to use him.
The heat between them had always been undeniable, and for a moment, He had allowed himself to feel that intense connection once more—the way her body responded to his touch, the way her fiery temperament mirrored his own instincts. But now, the cold reality of the situation began to settle in.
He gently withdrew his arm from around her, trying not to wake her, but the tension in his chest was growing. Was she the type to manipulate someone like him? To use his hunger, as a tool for her own designs? His mind lingered on the possibility, but before he could go any further, Azar stirred.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she shifted slightly, her back still to him. He froze, watching her, his heart beating a little faster now. She seemed so, so…
He had to remember—this wasn’t real. The connection they shared was all fire, something that burned intensely but had no place in his real life.
Azar’s voice came low and groggy as she rolled onto her back, her eyes blinking slowly open. Her gaze met his, a lazy smile forming on her lips. “You’re still here, huh?”
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, forcing a smile to his lips.
Her eyes sparkled with the same passion that had always drawn him in. But his mind quickly snapped back. This was dangerous. This wasn’t just some fling.
He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than he intended. “I’ll be heading out soon.”
Azar’s expression softened, and there was something vulnerable in her gaze that Eli couldn’t ignore. For a split second, he considered staying. Staying with her. But then reality slammed back into his mind. He couldn’t let this go any further.
“I’ll see you next week,” he said, standing up, his voice suddenly colder than it had been just moments ago. “You know the drill.”
Azar’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she masked it, her fiery personality quickly taking over. “You always leave me wanting more,” she purred, her eyes never leaving him.
He didn’t respond, not wanting to make the moment any harder than it already was.
But as he turned and walked toward the door, he couldn’t help but glance back at her. She was lying there, watching him with those smoldering eyes, the very embodiment of everything he desired, and yet… he knew better.
If he didn’t stop this...