Chapter 632: A reminder

Mason sat and watched as his key people and a few eastern leaders entered the large, board-room like hall. He’d gotten Haley and Rahman to set out some breakfast and plenty of coffee, wanting the tone to be positive, and constructive. He did his best to look calm and...happy. Or whatever.

“Just a reminder, Haley had cleared her throat as they waited, “you sometimes have, em…I think they call it ‘resting asshole face’. I know you’re not! It’s just…impatience. Responsibility. I get it. But maybe try to smile. A little? If you want to be less intimidating.”

He’d glared, but eventually smiled when Haley pointed at the sides of her own mouth like a clown moving her lips.

“Are you

sure

you don’t want a suit, or something?” she added. “Your nature clothes…even when it’s not full on

armor

. I mean it’s a little…”

“They’ve seen me a lot worse now. I’ll smile. OK? I’ll be extra super special nice. Also I think I’m hungry. Food’ll help.”

She’d rushed off for breakfast, and he’d finished three plates. It

did

definitely help, and he’d reminded himself to take care of his stomach

and

his dick if he intended to stay human. Yet again the image of Cerebus on his throne of bone flashed, eating and screwing and staring with a knowing smile.

“Fuck off,” he’d muttered as he chewed.

But now it was show time. The others were all taking their seats, looking more comfortable once they saw him nodding and smiling. He was used to it now, but when he stopped and paid attention he was always struck how the eyes of the others found him.

Even his long term people were always watching, judging his mood, taking their cues from him. No one touched the food until he stood and started grazing, putting a hand on Carl’s shoulder as he passed. The mood instantly lightened, the line formed up as people joked and started speaking more casually.

He knew it was respect. Something like awe now maybe, and not boot licking. Or at least

mostly

not boot licking. He tried to just accept it as the way things were. But he knew it would always make a distance between them, even with his key people. Even Blake, who sat somewhere further down, giving Mason a nod but nothing else.

“We’ve pretty much got the wounded sorted,” Carl said beside him as he chewed. “Dead are a bit trickier. Some of the corpses are uh…well, we can’t tell who they are, really. Figured we should find folks families, or whatever. Funerals. Anyway, we’re still on it. Just lettin’ you know. We lost a few weaker players, too.”

Mason nodded, trying not to wince at the loss of players. They’d lose more, he knew, before the end. If the ‘game’ was showing him anything it was that the power difference was hugely important. It wasn’t linear. He needed more people breaking through into the truly powerful ranks, because they were worth a lot of the weaker players.

With whatever time they had left, he needed to push everyone to improve. Some of them were going to die in the attempt. That was reality.

“Thanks for dealing with it,” he said, then cleared his throat.

People hissed or whispered at their neighbors, and he waited until the noise around the table died down. This sort of thing used to bother him, but he wasn’t even really uncomfortable anymore. It was just about getting all the things done they needed done. Where to start?

“The city’s safe.” He looked around the room. “Now we have to decide how to spend our resources. From you city natives—I want to know all the ‘problems’ you had before. Anything that wasn’t dealt with. I see a bunch of holdings in my profile, external stuff. I’m getting warning flashes already.”

The wizard, Erik was there, with a few of his people. They’d also invited the leader of the small group of players who’d come to Mason’s aid in the street—whose name currently escaped him. There was an officer from the former city guard. Some kind of arena training leader.

Then they had civilians. Rahman, of course, but he’d (apparently) brought two heads of civilian ‘guilds’. Another couple Mason didn’t know at all. The idea of dealing with the civilian problems and concerns made him wish alcohol still worked.

“The external settlements are resource based,” Erik explained. “Your warnings are very likely local wildlife—creatures that attempt to break down the walls or fences. There are, however, more organized foes. Orcs and the like. These would be one of the main ‘problems’ you asked about.”

“Why didn’t Jeong deal with them?” Mason asked. The Swede shrugged his thin shoulders.

“Losing players didn’t bother Jeong. The settlements were never overwhelmed, that was enough.”

Mason clenched a fist. How many dead warriors had that idiot been responsible for? He tried to remember what it felt like ripping off his head. It helped a little.

“Well that’s going to end. What else?”

Erik looked at some of the others, but it seemed they were all very happy to let him talk.

“There are rebels…that is, other players, still out in the wilderness. They occasionally cause problems. Stealing supplies, other resources. I suspect some of the settlements help them and pretend they’ve been raided.”

Mason shook his head, hardly comprehending the stupidity.

“What else?”

“Food,” said one of the guild leaders. “We are grateful for what’s been brought. But we need more. And a shipment from the nearby farms has been disrupted by the recent…difficulties.”

Mason nodded.

“I’ll be dealing with that as soon as we leave here. What else?”

“There are many problems in the city, lord,” said the same guild leader—an older Asian man with a system-translated, mid-western American accent. “Adjustments from Jeong’s system.”

“So I’ve heard. I don’t care unless there’s violence.”

He glanced across the table to find Haley giving him a ‘be nice’ kind of imitation smile. He took a breath.

“For now, all I care is that people aren’t starving. But we’ll get to it. What else?”

When no one said anything, he took a breath. Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as he expected. The ‘holy city’ really didn’t have much in the way of external threats. It sounded like even the fringe settlements weren’t in a huge amount of danger, and just needed to be properly secured.

“OK. Some of these are easy. Phuong, I want proper player teams sent to every external holding. Find out their issues, and deal with them. Use your discretion, and the teleporters. While you’re out there, find these rebels and start recruiting. Tell them Jeong is dead, do whatever you have to. Take enough beef you can let them hit you without fighting back. I don’t want

any

dead players. If they don’t want to join, fine, let them go.”

Phuong nodded, and Mason put the problem from his mind.

“I’ll put a player in charge of the city. To help set up a…” he shrugged, “governance structure. He’ll decide on things if the civilians can’t agree. And keep me informed. It’ll be temporary.”

He glanced at Blake, wondering if he could solve a few problems at the same time. His brother needed brain work that wasn’t mad scientist shit and playing with his greenskins. To be kept out of trouble and maybe back in what for him would count as normalcy.

“Blake.” His brother perked up like he’d been half asleep. “Can you take the time away from the tower? You’re not from my house, that makes you kind of neutral. Let’s say for six months. I’m sure you can go back and forth with the teleporters, if you need to. ”

Just about everyone not from the east looked surprised, including Blake. But he nodded his head and smiled.

“If I can assist, of course.”

“Well then.” Mason put his hands on the table. “Now the real problems. First, the Nexus. We can send a big hitter team, but here’s my concern—I’m worried if I go, it might ‘scale’ to me, and fuck everyone else.”

The players frowned or looked thoughtful. Erik waited for Mason’s people but when they said nothing leaned forward.

“I believe the general difficulty may increase. Though it may pull you out or provide specific problems for you. The system is designed to handle such imbalances.”

Mason snorted. “Yeah. I’ve seen how it ‘handles imbalances’, usually by killing us. You put a lot of the faith in this unfair, broken system.” Erik quirked his head in deference, and Mason shrugged. “Option two is you do it without me.”

His people didn’t look thrilled.

“Maybe the fucking thing makes it harder just because you exist,” Carl said. “Might not matter if you aren’t there. Maybe it just figured ‘players are more powerful in the world, increase threat level. Bloop bleep.’”

A few people snorted, but that sounded way too likely for Mason to enjoy the joke.

“Any way we can scout the thing? Learn more? I assume no one’s actually been there in awhile.”

Erik shook his head to confirm, and Mason glanced at Carl.

“Let’s get all our scouts over. Ayet—my, er, the elven enchanter I mean, she’s already here. I don’t know who else—Blake, Erik, whoever you all think. Take a hundred civilians for all I care, just head over and figure out everything you can.”

“You got it, kid. Might take a few days.”

“We have some time. Consider the next week clean up and fact finding.” He spoke up for the room. “But when the week’s over, every player’s life is going to get difficult. We’ll be training, exploring, and leveling up at the edge of people’s abilities. There’s gonna be injuries, complaining, and probably deaths. Be ready for that.”

He saw confusion. Some people whispered around the table, his keen hearing letting him know the question before it was asked.

“Isn’t the war over, sir?” said the player leader from the street. “I mean…Jeong is dead. The Endless is done. You won ‘the game’, didn’t you? Some people think it might all be over soon.”

Mason stopped himself from laughing with contempt. From growling at the eager eyes and relaxed faces around the table. Even some of his key people looked hopeful. Like things were finally getting better, that the worst might be over.

“Bad news,” he said. “Your boss was a distraction. ‘The game’ is whether or not we all live or die. I came here because I needed you. Because our alien overlord is sending something to destroy the world, and it isn’t some dusty old knight and a shambling army. He’s opening up portals to every plane that hates us and wants us dead, then he’s tossing away the keys.”

They all stared in different versions of denial. His main people maybe believed him in a ‘we’ve heard it before’ kind of way, but they still didn’t really get it. It was hard to accept your traumatic post-apocalyptic struggle was just the appetizer. That something worse was en route when you’d been through so much already.

“If that’s true, how do we stop it?” Erik said, his face expressionless.

“We don’t stop it. It happens, and we live. We get strong enough to kill gods.”

The Swede (and most of the room) stared, maybe thinking it was some kind of joke. Mason gave up trying to smile.