“Three mops at once? Wait'll the boys hear about this!” Surfs Nesetta removed her sunglasses to stare all the more admiringly.

“Mfs uhl im thh rsd,” Burmin Trivvis explained.

“Only that man who maintains his honor even when set to sweeping the floors can be called a true knight,” Knight-Master Gralles Alianura declared. “You, Burmin Trivvis, are the truest knight of all.” So saying, he bowed before resuming his own Janitor work.

“The last couple days since some of you finished Part 1 have certainly been busy, but now we've assembled a group to try Part 2 Chapter 1.”

“Was there a reason to tell us all that, Reginald?”

“I'm working on a developmental program. E means Examine your past. C means Clarify your goals. Next, I need an L.”

“Live your Eclipsest life, perhaps.”

“That isn't terrible. I have a question, though. Since when did Hyune come with us?”

“Since he said he would.” Clyse shrugged. “Tell me if I'm missing something, but what's the harm?”

“We may be too strong now. It makes it less dramatic when we chase our dreams,” Ulrik said. “Hyune. Tell us your dream.”

“Vacation.”

“From baby-sitting Sindze or Reginald in the Trial. Of course. No one blames you for that.”

“But you do blame me for something?”

“You really are a Strategist! Now that I see how perceptive you are and your willingness to confront harsh truths, my confidence is absolute. Let's go.”

Perandra Splendida! The aspirational Rares had all visited it on various Public Service commissions, but at last they could enjoy on their own terms the spires, the regal three-story mansions, those same spires again, and larger mansions that looked like money and also smelled like money. Bronzes and marbles, topiaries and carefully managed vines all testified that Perandra Splendida outstripped the continent's other cities in wealth and ornamentation.

“You'd think they could hire guards to do something about all these criminals,” Clyse commented as she sheared a Gangster's hatted head from his suited trunk.

“Albennereon Fax hired Chuckles Ieros to slow down the hero. The city isn't like this all the time, probably.”

“Chuckles Ieros. Any relation to Shakes Nesetta or Beans Istemus?”

“Boss of a rival organization. Chuckles and Nonneros don't get along. They both use guns though, and I wish they would stop.”

“You think they should switch to lenses for thematic reasons?”

“I think they should stop shooting me. I'm a frail Warper! Help me, Clyse!”

The assurance that their attacks had an effect did not, inexplicably, deter the Gangsters from continuing to make them. The streets of Perandra Splendida were mean that way.

“Caution is warranted, since the second part of the story was tuned for players who had some time to strengthen their officers while they waited for its release.” Hyune Giling closed his book. “Vinnette Melban, Ulrik, and I will encounter no difficulties.”

As he said, a Reaper with 61,443 HP and 19,645 Attack more than sufficed for Part 2 Chapter 1, even if Dosellian Urapta laughed so hard he started crying every time those numbers were stated out loud anywhere in the world, far out of his hearing. Ulrik also had 6% Recovery Blessing from his Mummy Armor, but that affected Vinnette's Regens no more than Recovery Curse did. Critical Chance? Critical Effect? His gear likely had some of those, but what did they have to do with Novas?

“Nothing at all! Flames of Dovesk!”

“Nothing what? Did you just shout out the caboose of your train of thought?”

“Yes.”

“It made those mobsters stop shooting me at least. You know, Chuckles Ieros uses a head ripped off an Alben Dragon as a weapon.”

“Oh?”

“We'll get a different boss though.”

“Oh.” Hyune Giling neglected to push up his glasses.

“Are you feeling well . . .”

“He feels the raging disappointment of the born Inferno, Princess Melban. Let him be while his heart reforges itself in its own unquenchable fires.”

“I see . . .”

Any replacement boss would be afraid to come on the stage after that introduction. Any boss but one that is, for the 2-1 midboss, or rather one-fifthboss, expected the discomfort of its audience and thrived on it. Rude Dolphin presented itself to challenge officers and society's expectations. It wore a gangland-appropriate hat and tucked a Tommy gun under a fin accustomed to dirty business, and also it was a dolphin.

“The lack of irony in these nicknames! One city hasn't forgotten its sincerity. This boss deserves an honest burial. Inferno Strike!”

“A Quake dolphin? Playing against type I see. However, it is your misfortune to be opposed by me! Grasping the Tail of the Phoenix!”

“Are we close enough to the water to get my bonus? Seems like we aren't! Complete Inspection!”

“Poke me with a pine needle, but I don't have anything to say about this! Grand Opening!”

Rude Dolphin's weaponry spat back, and careful observers noticed a star next to its health display, slowly filling with blazing light. Hyune Giling pushed up his glasses. “Champion, Warper, do you see that star?”

“Yes?”

“The fun star. A good time happens when it fills. Hyune, do you have to spoil everything?”

“Hm?”

“I believe Ulrik wants to stop us from finding out this boss has a Nova, Clyse. Unfortunately for him, I solved the puzzle.”

“It was your own fun that was ruined!”

Tears for what had been lost raced down Ulrik's face as fast as Rude Dolphin's health bars fell from under its nameplate. At that rate of reaping, the midboss's Nova would remain forever a secret.

“Ulrik, why are you lying down?”

“I was struck by Eclipse thoughts. I need to meditate on them.”

“Is that all? Our next session will be tomorrow, dispatches allowing. Our experts can assist you with all your Eclipse-related concerns.”

“Neat.”

“Right now, though, we're fighting a boss.”

“Are we?”

“He's about to Nova. Ulrik?”

“Yes?”

“I really think you should aaaaaaaah!”

Rude Dolphin fired at the ground in a circle and caused a localized earthquake beneath the Rares known as the Rude Earthshaker. Ulrik finished off the boss and considered. “The ghost of Dennet says two out of five,” he said, and nodded.

“Now we're off to my homeland,” Reginald announced.

When Public Service timers expired, officers filed into Freegate and checked whether the bulletin board had cursed them to go right back out again or released them from toil for a few hours. No ceremony welcomed them, no fireworks or Cadmos. Sometimes Cadmos.

Not that time. One exceptional officer was there though, and not to greet them. Count Poitnem trudged alongside a selection of dispatch regulars and dampened their spirits more than usual. If even strong Eclipse URs could be thrown into the Public Service pit, what chance did the rest have to climb out, even with an alt? Dead eyes saw them back to the base.

“None of that now.” Quille Treten looked around, rolled his shoulders back, and decided to hoist an impalpable weight. “None of that. The future has something for all of us. Why, I'm a Rare, and even I'm leveled now. Think about that! Now tell me your fondest Christmas wish.”

Castru blinked. “Eh? If I must choose one, I suppose it would have to be a Christmas alt.”

“I see. You next.”

“Me? Oh, well, it seems to me that an alt isn't too much too ask seeing as my lord Gradis and Sir Hemt have theirs already.”

“Sound thinking, very sound. How about you?”

“I ask for nothing more than a Christmas alt.”

“Hold on, what's the big idea?” Lasva shoved her way past the officers who had stopped and formed a circle around Quille. “You're stealing my job! And making a hash of it to boot! Now grill this gal with the fake red nose and antlers about why she thinks she has a shot at an alt she already has.”

“Hm, quite. Care to respond?”

Waltzing Rudolph acknowledged the point with a centaur curtsy, which involved the forelegs only. “I beg for you all to observe this, that my current form is that of a reindeer, not of Santa himself. Therefore, improvement is desired.”

“Well reasoned.”

“What kind of puff piece are you writing here? Don't flatter the victim! That's it, you're through. You'll never work in this industry again.” Lasva charged the taller, wider, beardier officer and tried to confiscate any pencils, notepads, and tape recorders he might have had on his person with the irresistible strength of a respectably equipped level 150 Harasser.

“Calm yourself. Oof! Ah! Ack! Tell my wife I'm sorry I never met her!”

Kindo started taking bets on how long the Rare would survive, but Count Poitnem spoiled the racket by pulling Lasva away, her hands still clawing. “An unjust jealousy is a scar that mars the loveliest. Leave off and let them declaim their Christmas dreams, that you might collect them in an article if it seems interesting.”

“Phooey.” Spunky as she was, Lasva averted her eyes from Poitnem's in surrender.

“My life is saved! Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Done.” Quille composed himself and checked his beard for damage. “Back to the topic. Besides alts, what would you ask Santa?”

“Uh, well, I dunno about Santa, but you know that new storage area? Don't like it.” Kindo shook his head. “I don't want to go back there.”

Clazdius Oranio backed him up. “I can't say that I care much for it either. Not to criticize your committee's work, Count Poitnem.” He bowed to Poitnem, who returned the gesture. “There's something funny about those warehouses. The last time I dumped some fangs and such, I could swear I heard whispering.”

“I didn't hear anything like that,” Kindo said, “but maybe there were people inside and you didn't know. Harder to see than you'd figure. Like the pile of junk won't let you look away from it.”

“Oh? I regarded the whispers as simply the shifting and settling of slivers and such.” Count Poitnem crossed his arms and smiled. “Well. What would you have done? Dig out a dump nearby and deposit our valuables inside?”

“I'm not sure that . . . why not? Yeah, it would definitely be better. I'll bring it up at the next meeting.”

“Kindo, I do believe that suggestion was made in jest. Why, shouldn't we be talking about bringing everything back to the old Armory instead of expanding the temporary one?”

“As Clazdius clarified, I was kidding. However, if you suggest shoveling out some dirt or hollowing out a hill, you may find support so long as you propose plans for an entire amusement park or other fun facility for us to ameliorate our dull downtimes.”

Cheered by thoughts of Christmas, roller coasters, and Lasva's failed attempt to enforce a monopoly, the dispatched officers returned in better spirits than usual. Then they looked at the bulletin board, and some became even happier while others, less so.