I am screwed. I am so totally, completely, unambiguously screwed. I tiredly rub the temples of my host Don Kuat, trying to focus on the problem at hand. One thing at a time. Finish your day job first. Then you can start worrying about the other matter.

I finish sorting the thumb drives in the little plastic box on my desk, each loaded with a response from an Orthodox Divine to a prayer. As an Operator of the Citadel, part of my job involves recharge duty, firing off the periodic prayers from Valkyries who want their favorite divine to recharge their bulwarks. These prayers are thankfully boiler plate, allowing me to send them in bulk. The replies from the respective goddesses are also mostly standard, usually in the vein of 'fight bravely my champion, the world rests upon your shoulders' and so on and so forth. Once decoded by the operator in charge, these divine responses are loaded on to the thumb drives for collection of the Valkyries during office hours. Then they can play the message in the sealed prayer room and receive the blessing. No fuss and no muss.

I seal the box and leave my office, heading for the station's reception. Its already eight pm, meaning there is hardly anyone around. Just a few bored guards and some unfortunate staff who are chipping away at the mountain of work this station dumps on to their tables. The receptionist had gone home already, so I leave the box next to her in tray, with a list of the Valkyries who would be coming to collect each of the thumb drives tomorrow. As I walk back to my office, I decide to take a peek at the security station.

Olivia, my assigned Yellow Rose, is not there. Come to think of it, I don't believe she has been around for the whole day. I had checked while going out for lunch earlier and Olivia's post was left unmanned then as well. Although there is an uncomfortable feeling in my gut, I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Olivia not being around means I can do my thing without any supervision. But there is also a nagging thought in the back of my head that nags at me every time I walk past the guards, telling me that Olivia's absence might have something to do with what happened last night. I force down the rising bile in my throat and thankfully make it back to my office with no one challenging me.

I shut the reinforced iron door of my office and slide the hefty bolt shut. It would take bulwark enhanced strength to break the door down now. My hand through ingrained habit flicks an unmarked switch on the wall, turning on a small red light located just outside my office. Its a warning signal, telling anyone wandering the station that I am in the middle of receiving and decoding prayers. All of this security is meant to prevent anyone from blundering in and being inadvertently sent raving mad while I am in the process of deciphering a prayer. Never let it be said that the Leader slacks off on public safety.

The office's setup also allows me to do some off the books work, safe from prying eyes. So no complaints there. Thanks, Leader.

I clear my desk and pull the keyboard closer to me. Commands are punched into the system, putting my transmission tower into ready mode. For ease of use, the system has the cosmological addresses of the Orthodox Divines coded into its memory. All an operator needs to do would be to click on the Divine's name and he would be good to go. But this prayer is not meant for any of those goddesses. I direct the system to engage manual search mode and a command prompt pops up, awaiting a series of coordinates from me. My memory begins to work and fingers fly across the keyboard.

Coordinates are punched in and the system now requests the prayer to be recorded. Instead of doing that, I input an override, directing the tower to make the connection with the target destination and start transmitting immediately. I drum my fingers as the tension starts to get the better of me. Usually I would send a prerecorded report to Management, but matters had become precarious. Precarious enough to warrant real time communication.

The system spits out a single word on my monitor, 'CONNECTED'. I wait for a few seconds, and sure enough, a message pops up on the screen.

Speaker. Report.

I fiddle with the microphone that comes as part of my equipment and wonder how to proceed. Drawing a deep breath, I decide to just take the plunge and handle the consequences later.

"There's a problem. Two problems actually."

Explain.

"Sheryl and I was attacked last night by ra - illegal immigrants." I manage to stop myself from saying 'rapefugees' just in time. Need to stay professional, "We were forced to kill them."

Illegal immigrants are a non issue. They do no have legal status in the Citadel. Neither you nor Operative Sheryl can be prosecuted for these killings.

"That's not the problem. After the fight, Sheryl told me that her host, Jasvinder Krishnan was actively suppressing her. She wanted me to eliminate Jasvinder so she could be redeployed."

There's a long pause before the Management sends their reply.

Operative Sheryl is still deployed in your dimension. Explain.

Yeah. OK, this is where things get complicated. I take another deep breath before continuing.

"Before I could take out Jasvinder, we were attacked again."

By more illegal immigrants?

"No. An operative. Like us. He deployed a darkness field to prevent outside intervention and to stop us from escaping. I was taken by surprise and forced into another battle."

What about Operative Sheryl?

"She sat it out." I say, "Sheryl was too weak to participate in a fight between Operatives anyway."

Impossible. We do not have any other Operatives in the Citadel other than Lisa, Sheryl and yourself.

"Well, then it was someone not working for you." I point out, "I think it was one of the Blue Ocean people."

Our estimates indicate the Blue Ocean Initiative's research on transmigrating Operatives is far from complete. It will take them at least a year before BOI can perform regular deployments.

"I think whomever prepared those estimates was talking out of his ass." I snap, "And I can prove it."

Please do.

"I keep hearing stories on the news about beast men villages being attacked." I explain, "Even though the war is over. I think someone or more probably, multiple someones, are harvesting to level up."

That is mere conjecture. However it is also entirely possible.

"So here's problem A." I lick my lips nervously, "The Operative I killed? His host was a citizen."

I see. So what is problem B then?

"Uh, I lost track of Jasvinder during the fight." I say as calmly as possible, "He must have regained control over the body and fled once the darkness field collapsed. I was too distracted to notice anything amiss during that time."

No response. As if the connection between the two dimensions had been broken. I am just about to check the system for any errors when a fresh line of text pops up on screen.

How do you propose to remedy this matter?

OK. There's still hope. The management has not pulled life support from my real body yet. That means I'm being given a second chance. Maybe. Probably.

"Lie low. I need to hide until the heat from the citizen's death dies down." I reply, "I'll also search for Jasvinder whenever possible. When the time is right, he'll be dealt with."

No. You need to take over Lisa's acclimatization and training. She is vital to our plans.

"Lisa needs blood serum." I respond, "And I have dipped heavily into my private stash to replenish my strength after last night's battle. I don't have enough to share with her."

Source for more. There are plenty of viable targets that can be harvested for raw materials. And you are qualified in the bio reclamation process.

"That's not workable." I hiss, "I can't do that while the murder of a citizen might still be hanging over my head! Going on a harvest now would lead the Yellow Roses straight to my door."

You are less resourceful than we expected Speaker.

Panic grips my heart and I quickly fire back, "No! No! I'll make it work. I swear it. Just give me a chance."

Please don't pull out my feeding tube. Of course that point is left unsaid. But the management knows it. And more importantly, I know it as well.

And rescue Operative Sheryl at the earliest possible opportunity.

"Yes. Of course."

See that you do. Earth prevails.

"Earth prevails." I sigh as a blast of malicious data is beamed from home straight into the system, erasing all traces of the conversation and producing a doctored activity log. Then the connection is broken, leaving me alone once more in my office. I lean back in my chair, with both my hands cradling my head, the stress getting to me.

What am I going to do now?