“Congratulations on you victory today,” Greta told him once he'd sat down and they'd ordered drinks.

He'd ordered a dark beer, while she'd gotten a shot of whisky. Derrick idly wondered if he should read into that. As a support User she could probably get drunk, unlike him who had way too much alien crap in his blood for that.

At the meeting, she'd seemed unflappable but perhaps she was feeling stressed? She might just be playing up this ‘victory’ of his.

“I don't remember doing any such thing,” Derrick said honestly as he sent some messages using his phone.

“I doubt it felt like much of a victory,” his enemy said with a flicker of a shallow smile. “Yet your power base, Users now outside West Hills, retained its complete independence. Strengthening your allies and yourself.”

Derrick made a face.

“If you brought me here to rehash the meeting, I will just leave.”

“It was an honest compliment. You have adeptly formed a power block behind my back,” she said. “You went from a no one, to a popular local hero and business owner in no time at all. Your success does pose a problem though. One that has to be solved. Considering the stalemate and hostility displayed by the council, I thought it would be better to approach you for an informal chat.”

Derrick had figured it was something like that. He’d had almost no contact with Greta, because he had nothing to say and had been running around putting out small fires.

“Why me?” he asked, mostly out of amused curiosity. “Or have you already talked to the others?”

A waitress arrived and delivered their drinks.

“Believe it or not, you are one of the more open-minded of your peers. Councilwoman Sarah ultimately represents the interests of Breakneck, who are if anything, a less restrained version of your own group. Their actual leadership has not made themselves available for a chat. Councilman Gregory will meet with me but is unlikely to care all that much about what I have to say. He sees the Enclave as simply a tool to further his own apolitical ambitions.”

“Aarav is a forgiving sort, I'm willing to bet he would at least listen to what you had to say. Especially if it wasn't face to face,” Derick commented as he took a sip of his drink.

“See, here's the problem, Greta.” Derrick announced. “I don't trust you. Aarav might have forgiven but neither of us have forgotten.”

She opened her mouth to say something but Derrick kept talking.

“Specifically, you can't be trusted to put the Enclave's own interest above your political ambitions. I barely remember your murder attempt on me. It's not even in the top twenty memorable attempts to kill me. But kidnapping Aarav and trying to sell lifesaving information? That was pretty low. Damning even.”

He took another sip of his beer.

“I erred.” Greta admitted calmly, causing Derrick mild surprise. “I did not truly understand the peril the Scourges represented. I am not an idiot however and understand that the survival of the human race is the priority. I will even go further and say that the prosperity of groups like Red Works, Breakneck and Teslaforce are heavily aligned with that survival. However, those groups cannot be allowed to do as they please. They are not a replacement for a functioning military and the Enclave requires one to survive.”

It was impossible to tell how much of that was truth and how much was an act. She wasn’t wrong. The current political set up was weirdly convenient for him, it allowed him to grow Red Works and rack up points and levels for his employees.

He was unabashedly building a personal army and it was going really well.

“That is true,” Derrick admitted. “The current... status quo is effective for now but I can't see it staying that way forever. We will need someone or some organization to coordinate for any major crisis that happens. Happily, no such crisis exists at this particular moment. Beyond a mild food and water shortage that seems on its way to being fixed. The best bet, it seems to me, is to keep things the way they are and hope something changes for the better. That new options for management become available.”

Greta downed her drink in one shot.

“There's a crisis.” She said.

Of course there was, Derrick thought to himself, of course there was.

“The System would have given out a mission,” was his hopeful reply. If he hadn't received it, that meant the System didn't think his help was necessary. It couldn't be that bad if he hadn't been bothered. Red Works and Breakneck were the only mobile System aligned forces in the area.

“It did,” Greta answered. “To the office of Enclave Defence, and as it is currently little more than a name, that message was given to the administrative head of the council instead.”

Which was Greta. Suddenly not having a leader for Enclave Defense seemed like a bad idea.

“The reason it went through Enclave Defence is that the mission is optional. It is not a crisis facing West Hills but rather Flint Creek.”

It took Derrick a few seconds to remember what and where Flint Creek was. It was a larger town with a population of a few thousand.

“A town about a hundred and sixty kilometres (one hundred miles) north of here?” he asked.

“Just so,” Greta confirmed. “I want an... informed opinion on the viability of this rescue mission. To the north, on the lakeshore, there is a failed minor Enclave. It was only considered viable for a few days before the System concentrated more on West Hills. It was mothballed due to a mild Inoculation outbreak supposedly making the region not worth investing in. Before it was cancelled though, a bunker was constructed. One large enough to hold a few thousand people. Those people should be safely sleeping beneath Inoculation ravaged land still.”

“And yet...” Derrick mumbled darkly. The last thing they needed was more people, if the people in that bunker were safe, they wouldn't be talking about them.

“And yet, there is a crisis.” Agreed Greta. “An Authority has detected something tampering with the bunker and requested we send a team to investigate. Thousands of lives could be in jeopardy, facing death or something much worse.”

From her tone of voice, he could tell she meant much worse for them, not the people in the bunker. If the Grey Legion got theirs hands on a few thousand people it would be bad. Apocalyptic. Yes, they couldn't afford to ignore this.

“Which Authority,” he asked. It didn't sound like his Patron, It that Rewards Savagery, and he still knew next to nothing about the rest. Except that two of them had tried to kill him. Could this be another such an attempt? That was a long way to travel these days. Through an area that had become somewhat unfriendly. He'd gotten reports, well, heard stories of strange lights, an unstoppable wave of plague, spontaneous combustion, the landscape changing overnight and inhuman things crawling around in the dark and stealing people away.

Normal postapocalypse stuff.

“I will send you the entire request,” she answered. “It was my hope that you would pass it on to Breakneck though. They are the best equipped for a mission that takes them that far from West Hills and where speed is of the essence. I thought they would take the matter more seriously if you were to bring it up.”

Derrick considered what he'd heard and read the file she had just sent to his phone.

It did seem like she was telling the truth. The mission was of clear System origin, sent by an Authority called HOTS. The acronym was memorable enough that he was sure it wasn't either of the ones that had tried to kill him. Putting the number of Authorities he was aware of at at least four.

From the corner of his eye, Derrick saw a familiar face enter the bar and give a thumbs up, he carefully ignored it. At least outwardly. Giving no obvious sign, he began to play with manna, using a trick that Third Striker and the Lurker of Loving Purpose had taught him.

Did she hand off the mission in the hopes to weaken either Breakneck or Red Works? Maybe. She had little to lose if they were weakened. She would want them to succeed though, a thousand Grey Agents as neighbours was pure nightmare material. Ideally, she would them to suffer on the way back, within the territory controlled by the Old Guard.

“Thank you for bringing this to me. I will see if Breakneck is interested. I will also talk to some people and see if Red Works can help them out in any way, or fulfill the mission if they can't.”

“We still have the issue of trust to work around though.” He said and almost casually, yet blindingly fast, reached over to her side of the table and grabbed her wrist from its position next to her empty shot glass.

At first Greta just looked annoyed, but a second later he saw a flash of real fear on her face.

“Tried to message your bodyguards?” Derrick asked. “They were identified and disabled while we were talking. Even if we hadn't though, you won't be able to message anyone right now. Don't worry, you’re not in danger. This is simply... a trust building exercise.”

He was using manna to block all communications around himself, disrupting the Substrate to corrupt any signal that got with a few feet of himself. The Substrate was a pseudo real layer of the Fold that was directly next to their own. It was basically an artificial layer of reality used for moving energy. Either communications or transferring power. It was why System devices never normally ran out of power or lost signal.

He'd learned that adding a touch of Canvas manna would allow that disruption to affect reality as well, turning himself into a very weak cell phone jammer. Third Striker had found that fascinating, if reproducible through other means. It was basically just a party trick, as he had to be sitting right next to the target for it to work. His range was limited by his Auril Style, which blocked continuous use of manna above a trickle.

It was useless in a fight, but as a mysterious bluff, it worked wonders. Users tended to be very unnerved by anything that seemed to defy the System. Probably because it ran every aspect of their lives and it was all that was keeping them safe from the Scourges.

Just as he finished speaking, Blake appeared from behind Greta and threw three pairs of shoes on the table.

Why even...

“Shoes?” Derrick asked.

“I wanted proof that I'd disabled all three of her minions that you texted about. The obvious thing to take was their weapons, but the only non-System stuff they had was total junk. Cutting off their fingers seemed like overkill. So shoes,” Blake replied. “It's not their fault they work for a grade 'A' bitch. Hello Greta, uncovered any new conspiracies lately?”

“What is this supposed to prove?” the short woman asked, ignoring Blake entirely. “Violence doesn't impress me.”

That was rich coming from her, someone guilty of attempted murder and inciting a mob. Those were just the crimes he knew of. He was sure there many more.

“That if I really wanted you dead, you would be. I don't trust you though and I need too if I'm going to risk myself and others on your word. So I'm making the consequences of further nonsense clear. You will support this mission with every ounce of power you have. The slightest bit of sabotage will be a Declaration of War and I have capabilities beyond what you are aware of. ”

Like Quantum Awareness, which he'd used to pinpoint the three Users staring at him during their walk over here. He let go of her wrist.

“Message received. You have nothing to worry about,” Greta said and she stood up, leaving both her glass and the shoes on the table.

“Excellent, I hope this is the start of a mutually beneficial business relationship,” he said as she scurried off. Well, she didn't actually scurry, it was more like a hustle. “Oh, and thanks for the drink.”

Both he and Blake just watched her go for a few seconds.

“Why haven't we already killed her?” Blake asked.

“You're too lazy and I think she is actually pretty good at running things,” Derrick said with a shrug. “I half expected people to be eating each other by now. Instead, the city is weirdly normal.”

“That's the System’s work, not hers.” Blake countered.

Derrick just shrugged. Maybe. He didn't want to rock the boat though. If he whacked her or whatever, he would be obligated to fix the mess that created. Something that terrified him far more than an attempt on his life.

“One of her flunkies would just end up in charge anyway.” Blake Demnol mused. “Killing them all would take too much work. Better the devil you know.”

The two of them ordered another round of drinks before taking their business to another bar. This place had been Greta's choice and so was compromised. Once they'd moved, they began to plan. Blake, almost despite himself, had a better head on his shoulders for politics than Derrick did. They discussed countermeasures to Greta and the best way to approach Breakneck. The blond haired User was at least as close to that group as Derrick was.

“Oh, call Mathew and get him to come back to West Hills. He's from the Flint Creek area isn't he?” Derrick ordered.

“I'm not your secretary,” Blake denied with a snort. “But yes he was. He had nothing good to say about it. This is a real clusterfuck you're sending us into.”

“I didn't say we were going ourselves,” Derrick argued. “I just agreed to cover support and try to recruit Breakneck. They might not even want our help.”

“Please,” Blake said scornfully. “You'd never send anyone on such a dangerous mission without going yourself. You've thrown yourself, and me, at every enemy we come across. I just hope this isn't some romantically distraught bullshit from you breaking up with Kate.”

“Breakup is not really the right word,” Derrick said, with a warning glance. “Besides I'm not the romantic type.”

“You had her exiled,” Blake pointed out. “If that's not drama, what is? And even worse, you haven't jumped on that Shalka hotness yet, when she is clearly willing. It's so unfair, what about you do all these alien chicks love? Is it a pheromone thing? Do I need freaky red scars all over me?”

He really didn't want to talk about Kate with her cousin. The whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth still. He really wasn't the romantic type though, his leaping into danger had nothing to do with her. Other than motivating him to become powerful enough to slap Noble Virulence in the face. Telling Blake to shut the hell up or trying to explain the obvious to him would just backfire, it was better to distract him.

“Firstly, you have a girlfriend,” Derrick dryly said. “A beautiful one with some very interesting abilities. Secondly, you work for me, so make the damn call, minion. I have more important things to do.”

“Like what?” Blake asked.

“Like making sure Red works can afford to employ idiots like you. Do you...”

Derrick stopped talking, his silence joining the silence around them. A hush had fallen on the bar. Both he and Blake twisted around to look to the entrance.

At first he didn't see what the fuss was about. Something was definitely happening though. He could see dozens of people staring at something. A murmur broke out among those closest to the door.

Was this some retaliation from Greta? Had he overplayed his hand and now...

A auril pulse bounced back to him and revealed the culprit. He had been in front of them the whole time, he was simply too short to be seen over the bar's booths.

“You have a mission to the area known as Flint Creek,” Third Striker said as he strolled into view and his oddly bisected eyes met Derrick's own. “I am coming with you, neophyte. I have business there.”