There’s some comfort in routine. Gen had begun to develop some sense of normality in the New World. He’d even almost started to enjoy it, in a strange sort of way. Sure, they’d have to fight giant insectoids from time to time, but he bent himself backwards to carve out a guarantee that he and his people could return to safe walls, functioning sewers, and a slowly modernizing City. That fact made it easy to forget that, as far as they were concerned, the vast majority of Humankind were dead and gone. Even the ‘feud’ between the Rebels and his citizens was mostly just for show, a sport that gave them all something to preoccupy themselves with. His relationship with Kat gave him something to keep busy with.

Gen talked with Krella for hours on end in the interrogation room, one of the few modern places in the entire City. It had been modeled entirely after real-world police station designs- it was a pet project for a few citizens, but it hadn’t seen any actual use. For all the chatter and questioning, the only thing he could guarantee was that things would have to change, and in a big way. The Centurion’s troopers were just a reconnaissance unit. While the city handled them with little issue, that was mostly the product of their unpreparedness. Had the enemy been given time to set up their teleportation device, nearly four times as many Horned Men would have taken part in the fight. That alone would be a nightmare to deal with, but it could theoretically be managed with some luck and grit. The situation was far direr than just that, though. The orders Krella’s race received had been to dispatch a significant chunk of their forces, and as he explained what that meant, Gen grew less and less confident.

“The council had been reluctant to send any troops,” he said, “but with our teleporter’s destruction in mind? They’ll make no such mistake again.” In more practical terms, that meant tens and tens of airships, all loaded to the brim with hundreds of men, all armed and ready for a hostile landing. Apparently, some sort of universal government generally prohibited ‘higher races’ to be dispatched to an ‘outer ring’, but they made a unique exception just to deal with the Human problem. As far as Krella could remember, a race or two had been exterminated for slipping in even a fraction of the number of troops, yet his own had been given full reprieve just for that one job.

At least they would have a few days before the enemy arrived, but only so much could be done in that time. Even after letting Krella run off to go do something or another, Gen spent a good while procrastinating, mulling over their every option. In the end, he always came back to one particular solution, quite possibly their only hope. The only problem was that, like any solution, it had its own hosts of downsides. Downsides serious enough to make the always-punctual General of the City of Man delay his decision even while their adversaries got ever closer. Resigned, he stood, leaving the dusky room.

He made sure a few of his adjutants would be ready to receive him once the questioning was finished. It was a long walk between the two rooms, and Gen wouldn’t have been even a little surprised if they ran off. Instead, they were all still there, bored out of their minds as they were. Ayala was slouched over the table, one massive hand tapping rhythmically on it as she looked through the menagerie of documents strewn about on its surface. The City had finally made a little assembly for plant stripping, and while they didn’t have the time or manpower to make anything too fancy, they’d started putting together the important things like language booklets for basic Commons and maps of the area. As Gen entered, the Warden shot to her feet, fully at attention. The woman’s expression was severe, even by her standards.

“How bad is it?” She asked, but Gen shook his head. “Too bad. I’ll explain in detail when we get my civilians together.” He paused. “The Rebels, too. We’re going to need to keep them in the loop on this one.”

Merrilyn had been humming and bobbing her head from side to side, but she stilled once he began to speak. “Smells like game over to me! I’m going to have to can our new project, aren’t I?”

Gen nodded. “We’re pretty far gone. You’re going to have to pop the lid on the Bunker, too… Any chance you can bring out the Executioner?”

There’s a difference between being still and being frozen in time. When Gen asked that question, Merrilyn stopped moving entirely, an eerie freeze-frame. It made her jubilance suddenly uncanny, like how pictures sometimes make happy moments feel fake or forced. A chuckle emanated from her throat, as unmoving as it was. “You know it doesn’t work like that, silly! I don’t think that’d be a good idea, anyway.”

The Warden looked between the two, mystified. “I do not follow,” she said, “what does ‘Executioner’ mean?” The two humans had slipped too seamlessly between this world’s Commons and English, hardly realizing they’d done it. Gen hadn’t known, but he had always used their silly ‘titles’ in English, even speaking aloud. That oddity beggared closer inspection- later, since there were more important things to be dealt with. He exchanged a glance with Merrilyn, and she finally began to move once more, slowly rebuilding pieces of her façade. Things like allowing her chest to fall and rise as she breathed or like carefully correcting her posture to look more friendly and welcoming. Gen had gotten used to the woman over the time they’d known each-other, but this particular part of her always gave him chills. People weren’t meant to change themselves so completely on a mere whim.

“It’s nothing, Ayala,” she said cheerfully, “Gen was just momentarily confused. Elson, are we clear to put a lid over the Bunker?”

Elson had been quiet. The man was always attentive, or at least pretended to be. When Gen entered the room, he hadn’t even reacted outside of a small nod that may or may not have actually happened. He preferred to let people fill in the blanks, leaving his mind to wander and ponder over new floorplans, interesting uses of materials, and the art of a finely built wall. Still, when Merrilyn asked a question, he was ready to answer in a heartbeat. It was part of his work, and Elson never let anyone distract him from his work- not even himself. So, answer he did.

“Yes.”

Ayala turned, startled. She had almost forgotten the man was in the room, which was a bit unusual for her. She worked with the Architect on more than one occasion, but he wasn’t an easy man to get a feel for. When it came to brick and mortar, he was almost excitable, but otherwise he seemed to hover about like an emotionless mannequin. Out of all the mysterious mages the Human infestation had presented her with, his powers were the easiest to understand. It was a small comfort, but after so much time dealing with the rest, his brand of weird was probably her favorite. She liked to punch things, so she channeled her power into punching things. He liked buildings, so he channeled his power into buildings. Simple and straightforward, two admirable traits. She just wished he’d be a little more conversational.

“Let’s walk while we talk,” Gen said, “I’ll explain a bit more on the way.”

The other two joined Ayala on their feet. Merrilyn bounced her way to the door that lead to the main hall, holding it open for them. Gen nodded graciously, and they started on their way down it, General taking point.

“ETA?” Merrilyn asked. “Err, I mean ‘time of arrival’?” She added awkwardly, mostly for Ayala’s benefit.

“We’re looking at about five days, maybe less,” Gen said. It was a grave situation, and it wouldn’t do him any good to sugarcoat it.

“How many soldiers?” Ayala asked nervously. She had seen how deadly the higher race was from their skirmish and how they contributed to extermination of the Gorgon Bug, and even with the Humans’ unusual efficacy and fancy weapons, she wasn’t sure how many more of them they could handle.

“Low estimate of eight thousand.”

“Cease your lies,” she hissed, “I will not take kindly to it, even if it is for your ‘jokes’. If there were so many enemies, you would not be so relaxed.”

Gen looked back. Ayala was wide-eyed and agitated, somewhere between shock and fury. It was about the reaction he’d had when Krella told him. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “I think I’ve got a way for everyone to survive.”

“Every human, perhaps,” she spat, but Gen just smiled at her.

“Natives, too. Actually, I think more of our guys will be at risk,” he retorted.

“I give it a ten percent chance of working as intended!” Merrilyn said, bubbly as can be. Ayala looked between her and Gen, shock subsiding into confusion.

“Ten percent? Oh, ye of little faith,” Gen said, and Merrilyn giggled.

“I’d bump it up depending on how far you’re willing to go,” she said, “but we both know you’re going to chicken out when it comes time for ‘risk management’.”

Gen scowled and turned forward again, staring out ahead. They were most of the way to their destination now, the very same common room that they’d camped out in when they first arrived at the fort. He couldn’t argue with Merrilyn’s assessment, even if he wanted to- he knew it to be true. It was why he asked for her to pull out ‘the Executioner’, in fact. He’d never try something quite so suicidal if it wasn’t his army’s best shot at getting through mostly unscathed. All things considered, it might have been for the best that Merrilyn turned him down. Letting her go all-out at a time like this had its advantages, but there was no telling what would happen if she got out of hand.

The main hall was sparely populated, which was a little shocking. Even without the rebels bolstering their overall population, the room typically had a good number of people hanging about to eat, study, or plan, scattering across the endless tables and benches. Today, Gen only saw maybe six people, and about half were from James’ camp. He recognized the Songstress, who made a point of glaring at him as soon as he entered the room, but the other two he couldn’t particularly remember. His half was mostly familiar faces. A particularly nondescript young man sat across a table from Ramirez, the Gardener, and the two of them were chatting excitedly. Ramirez listened to the other man speaking with his eyes open wide. His plant magic was pretty impressive in the recent fight, and given how the guy usually blustered and preened, it was strange that he wasn’t himself droning on and on about his experience. Either the nondescript young man was a particularly good storyteller or he had done something exceptionally important, and the thought of not easily identifying someone more valuable than the Gardener made Gen more than a little uncomfortable.

The Nameless Girl was keeled over on another table half way across the room, head in hands. She hadn’t even been watching to see when he’d arrive. Her survival had been a small miracle, and she certainly looked worse for wear, crisscrossed in cuts, bruises, and abrasions alike. Gen felt bad for leaving her behind, but clearly it had been the right call. Probably. Seeing her all alone reminded Gen of a few people who were missing. The rest of the upper echelon of their little society were supposed to hang around and wait for a situation report, but even Jim had apparently ditched. Kat not being there was a given- no amount of anxiety could keep that girl sitting still for minutes, let alone hours.

“Alright,” he said, and the stragglers looked up at him. “We’re going to need to get the rest our Citizens together. Rebels, too.” The Songstress grunted at him, and he looked over to her.

Her glare had turned into a little frown, and she shook her head. Gen started to ask why, but Ramirez cut in before he could voice his thoughts. “That’s going to be a tall order, boss. They’re all too busy brawling.”

Gen then turned to Ramirez, expecting a wry smile and wiggling eyebrows, but to his surprise, he didn’t seem to be joking. Ramirez turned most things into jokes, but for him to be so sincere… “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, pointed to the front door, and turned back to talk more with the other guy sitting at the table. Gen strode over to the door, annoyed. Up until the moment he flung it open, he was completely certain that Ramirez just messing with him. Why would the citizenry be brawling right after surviving a foreign invasion and giant bug onslaught? They couldn’t possibly be so stupid.

They proved him wrong. Bodies were strewn across the grass of the plateau, riddled with bruises. Thankfully, no one seemed to be outright dead, or at least from what Gen could tell. The fighting was still going on, people of all shapes and sizes joining in on the brawl. Even a few Goblins were mixed in, no doubt mistaking the wanton violence for a training exercise. He’d operated an Earth style boot camp for Goblins in his spare time, so it wasn’t an entirely unreasonable guess on their part. No one had brought out weapons, and magic seemed to be off-limits, which was probably the only reason no one had been out and out murdered. He could spot a number of familiar faces, but not any of his immediate acquaintances, and certainly not Jim or James, the two people he wanted to see most. Merrilyn giggled behind him when she caught up, just loud enough for some of the nearest combatants to hear.

Heads turned like a wave, an infectious distraction spreading out from those first few to notice him. The fighting ground to a halt, all eyes suddenly trained on Gen. “What in the hell is going on?” He shouted, and there was an uncomfortable shuffling, like children caught in the middle of misbehaving. One young man pulled himself free of his opponent’s grip and stood, dusting himself off.

“Tyrant, your time is done!” He shouted, clearly falling within the purview of the Rebel camp. His retort earned him a stiff shove from behind, and he toppled over. The person he had been fighting was a middle-aged woman, one that Gen did recognize. She was part of the task force that had planned out the Bunker, working in tandem with Elson and Merrilyn, utilizing some of her civil background to ensure the structural plans were sound. She looked a little embarrassed, clearing her throat and dipping her head penitently.

“The Rebels got real rowdy the moment their leaders ran off,” she said, “and we may or may not have challenged them to a fight.” When she finished speaking, she hurriedly looked away, shuffling awkwardly.

Gen sighed. They’d manage to put away the two sides’ issues thanks to a few well-timed murders and an immediate threat, but it could only be cordoned away for so long. Really, it was probably lucky that things hadn’t gotten a bit more lethal. “And the City Guard approved?” He asked, exasperated. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything, since the City Guard hadn’t even bothered to show up.

Ayala coughed behind him. “I gave them all a day off after last night,” she said, apologetic. “Perhaps that was a bad idea.”

Gen shot her a glare. Sure, he’d drained enough mana from a few of them to leave them unconscious, but that was no reason for a vacation! Fallen in the line of duty, such and such. If they kept going down this road, he’d have to fund a PTSD clinic, and the City really didn’t have time for that. It was probably a good thing that getting stolen away and dropped in the New World fucked with their Human sensibilities so much. Unsurprisingly, everyone being just a bit ‘off’ made managing their terrible situation much easier.

Even the Rebels were starting to look a little embarrassed. He glared down at the crowd, hoping it was domineering enough to keep them under control for just a little longer. “I was hoping to announce our standing to everyone, anyway. Where did James run off to?”

The Songstress answered that question, uncomfortably close behind him. Far closer than the table she’d been sitting at before, at least. “Jim’s feeling in a bad way. James is escorting him to chase around energy, or something,” she said.

The crowd had finally started to really pull itself back together, bar the poor saps who really had been knocked silly. “What’s so important that we’d need to listen to you!” One intrepid teen shouted, a girl about his age. He remembered her as a Programmer candidate and one of James’ initial group. Honestly, Gen hadn’t expected to see her still alive.

“Well, we’re abandoning the City of Man, for one,” He said. It came out nonchalant, hardly louder than his normal speaking voice, but everyone went silent. Well, except for Merrilyn. She just giggled some more, muttering something about how she ‘knew it’. He walked out of the doorway, taking a step or two down to the grass, and shocked stares of the people outside- Human and Goblin alike- followed his gait. Ayala followed him frantically, hovering near his ear.

“You promised me a plan,” she snarled at him, as quietly as she could manage. “Do you know how much blood and carnage it took to get a handle on this god-forsaken city? You show up, remodel it into something even better, and then tell us to leave it behind?” The City really had taken on new life during its occupation. The residual expertise, common knowledge, and natural ambitions of their human invaders to rebuild a small piece of Earth had turned it into something almost entirely new. Month over month, it had become easier to defend, earned a highly advanced and fully functional mining network for the first time in decades, quadrupled in maximum citizen capacity, undergone significant reconstruction (admittedly due to blowing up or incinerating entire districts), and rebuilt its facilities in such a way that they were on the cusp of entering a pre-Industrial boom. Leaving the place behind would be a tragedy, especially since the Gomen were only just now coming to terms with their human occupiers.

“No, no,” Gen said aloud. “You get to stay, Warden. In fact, you get your city back. Congratulations!” Then he grunted, an annoyed little huff. “Temporarily, at least.”

Ayala stared at him blankly for a moment before realization exploded through her eyes like a lighter dropped in a powderkeg. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice shocked into a whisper.

Merrilyn cackled, cute giggling completed devolved into maniacal laughter, only briefly pausing to answer the Warden's question before Gen could get a word in edgewise. “He’s dead serious. The plan’s exactly as dumb as you're thinking, too.”

Gen decided to let that be that and instead addressed the crowd once more. “Our enemy is sailing ever closer. They dwarf our numbers, so much so that not even the City’s high walls and you Rebels’ absolute compliance will keep us alive. I have a very simple plan, and here’s how it goes.”

He threw an arm into the air, one finger pointed at the sky. “First, we will get our other facilities locked up. The Goblins and Gomen will pretend we were never here, and ideally, Krella’s troop will play along. They were attacked by a giant bug, which is true enough, and that’s where the missing soldiers have gone. If they get called on it, the City’s residents were threatened into submission, and Krella’s troop were under tight supervision. The mystery will keep them here for long enough that we can book it. The Horned Men are a higher race, and regulations say they won’t be allowed to run about executing natives. Thank God for Bureaucracy.”

A small cheer went up for Bureaucracy, possibly for the first time in human history. Gen felt a small pang in his chest, sad to know that it would never be written down. With the death of his pioneer generation, such marvels would be lost forever. Another finger went up. “Second, we will split into two groups. We’re going to run right the fuck away from each-other, as fast as we can. When our cover is blown, it’ll be harder for them to catch us all if they split forces. Some of you may be thinking ‘but if they have so many troops, why wouldn’t they just send half one way and half the other’.” He said, and the Rebel girl from before crossed her arms and pouted. Nailed it.

He put one last finger up. “Third. If we find civilization, we’re going to scatter. From now on we’re a hapless race of not-Gomen named the ‘Wisemen’ because Humankind’s, and my own, hubris knows no bounds. We spread as thin as we can in areas as populated as we can. Infiltration. Each person will do as they like, as long as ‘what they like’ either ensures increased control over a region or keeps them otherwise alive. One big rule: When the time comes, we’re going to pool everything together again. Defectors will be dealt with ‘severely’.” He turned his hand down, instead pointing at the metal hook affixed where his other hand should be. “Severely,” he repeated, every bit as deliberate as a teacher laying down the law for a particularly petulant schoolchild.

Everyone shuffled about uncomfortably, and chatting started. People talked, no matter what side they were on. The tone seemed to be increasingly nervous, a general anxiety sweeping over the crowd. The people who had been found farther out in the Floodplains seemed especially nervous, no doubt uncomfortable to start yet another exodus. Gen suddenly regretted not stressing the fact that the area humanity was dumped in was, in fact, the most sparsely populated and savage area around. Krella had made it quite clear that after you pass the Jungle and mountain ranges to the one side you’d hit a relatively successful centralized kingdom of Goblins occupying the same space as a race of dog-men, and the other side was something of a perpetual suburb, with loads of disparate peoples running tribes and villages almost close enough to touch, forming something like city-states along a generally temperate region of land.

One hesitant voice rose from the mumbling crowd. “W-Why not just run ‘away’? If they’re coming from the North, why go East or West?” He asked, clearly uncomfortable with being on the spot.

Gen groaned. “I was hoping no one would ask,” he said. “It turns out the landmass we’re on is a literal ring.”

The conversation ground to a halt once more. “That’s… not possible,” the older woman from before huffed. “Even more preposterous than a semi-flattened planetoid. Gravity would never,” more voices joined in, a cacophony of generally smart people dismissing a generally dumb idea. “The sun’s path wouldn’t-”, “moon phases are still the s-“, “our path of exodus correlated to the angular velocity of the-“, so on and so forth. Gen put his hand up, hushing the chatter.

“I can answer all of your questions easily enough,” he said, earning a scoff from more than a few of the particularly educated among the crowd. It actually hurt his feelings a little. Sure, he was young, but he wasn’t stupid! “It’s simple: It’s magic, and that means I don’t have to explain shit,”

The momentary confusion was cut down handily. Given the situation, no one could deny that ‘magic’ could fuck up the way things were meant to operate. Merrilyn’s crew seemed to be messing around with integral laws of physics, and that was just one example. A flat, ring-shaped planet spinning around a pyramid of other flat, ring-shaped planets suddenly sounds reasonable when you consider the kinetic dynamics of giant bug monsters that shoot petrification beams.

“Focus on the topic at hand, please.” Gen said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Elson,” he called behind him, and the big man joined him outside. “This man may not be familiar to many of you. He’s our City’s architect and planner. Say hello, Elson.”

Elson grunted.

“Very good. He will lead a troop to shut away the Bunker and initiate plan ‘radical remodel’.” He said, right about the same time the ‘Boom Room’ exploded once and for all. Scrap metal and concrete flew for a solid forty or so feet through the air in every direction, propelled like shrapnel by the blast. At some point during the flat-planetoid debate, Merrilyn slipped away to go do the honors. Crazy bitch.

“Scratch that,” he added, ignoring their seemingly perpetual shock. The City’s civilians in particular should have been used to it by now, at least. No point looking like an idiot every time something vaguely interesting happened. “just shut away the bunker and clean up the mess.”

Gen turned to the side, nodding at Ayala. She was hardly surprised by the turn of events, perhaps desensitized to random explosions at this point. “I want you to get your people caught up on the situation. I’ll… handle the Goblins.”

Ayala nodded gravely. “What makes you think we will, or should, comply with this?” She asked. It felt more like a probing question than a real challenge, and Gen shrugged. “We’ve brought a lot of good things and relatively few bad. Also, I could have the entire hill leveled by nightfall if I so chose.”

She blanched and hurried off, not daring to challenge that particular assertion. Really, the Warden had been prepared to go along with the plan anyway, but not having the ground cave in under them would certainly be a great motivator. After the way the General had handled the last civilization to challenge him, she couldn’t even doubt his conviction. In some ways, she’d been letting the relative lethality of Humans settle into the back of her mind, treating them more like normal Gomen than anything else. It seemed like every time she finally got comfortable, she was reminded quite thoroughly of how dangerous they really were. The insane quantity of higher race troops dispatched suddenly made an awful lot of sense.

Gen turned back to the crowd. “Anyone here work with Merrilyn?” He said, and one kid, beaten black and blue, raised his hand. “How much have we learned from the battery?”

The kid cringed. “Nothing.” He said. It took him a moment, but he nervously added “sir,” skittishly. “Nothing at all?” Gen asked, prodding. He got a shrug in return. “’need more time,” the kid said. “All we know is it uses some sort of rock.”

Gen was a little surprised. A rock? “What sort of rock?” He asked, intent. The kid frowned. “It’s shiny and very round,” he said, squinting as if trying to remember what it looked like. Gen sighed. He wasn’t going to get much info out of this particular ‘researcher’, sadly. “I want you to go and tell them to get everything packed up,” he said. He looked back at the Boom Room, scanning the wreckage for the Imposter herself. “Merrilyn is ‘busy’.”

The kid hustled off, barely pausing to say 'bye'. He seemed happy to be allowed to do anything other than talk to Gen, which was fair enough. Gen's reputation hadn’t exactly mellowed out over time. Still, how the kid could work with Merrilyn comfortably and still be nervous around him was a mystery of the highest order. He could only really chalk that one down to the natural superpower of 'having boobs'.

Almost on que, someone rapped him on the temple, as though punishing him for his flippant thoughts. Gen tipped over sideways, throwing himself into a squat that left him primed to launch himself at whoever it was that snuck up on him. Really, though, that was all for show. Only Kat and a few particularly talented Goblins could sneak up on him so soundly. The excessive reaction was more for her benefit than his own. She laughed at him, a few members of the crowd joining in. Gen took mental note of those particular faces for later use. “What’s going on?” She asked, and he stood back up, shrugging.

“World’s flat and we’re running like hell,” he said. Kat smiled and nodded. “Sounds like fun!” She exclaimed, “just like old times.” Gen pointed to her, then glared out at the crowd. “See! This is the appropriate reaction to being given new information,” he said, which wasn’t strictly true. The somewhat injured citizens seemed guilty, though, and that’s what matters.

He looked at Kat, frowning. “Weren't the other two along with you?” He asked, curious. There was no way that Kat would leave Jim and company in dire straits, so he’d expected the three of them to show up at around the same time. Instead of answering his question, she just smiled and waited. Someone cleared their throat behind him, awfully close to his back.

He spun around and dodged back once more, growling. “Stop doing that!” He saw who it was: Jim was lowering James to his feet, the two of them descending from the sky. Jim really did look ragged, but he already seemed a lot better off than how he had looked the night before. Truly, losing such a reliable weapon to James was one of Gen’s biggest regrets. It wasn't utterly silent like Kat's, but it was still more than subtle enough to be lethal if Jim was given the right situation. 

James dangled from Jim's grip and smiled down at him, practically beaming. “So, we’re going on a road trip, huh?” He asked, entirely too excited at the prospect.

Gen gritted his teeth. “Yes, James. We’re going on a road trip.”

James whipped the crowd into an uproar, and by the time he was finished riling them up, everyone was chanting “Road Trip! Road Trip!”

They left before nightfall.