The siren blared.

His opponent held up a hand leaving the axe in its belt loop and shield at his side. “Quick talk before we start!” the brawny young man said.

Drake shrugged and put his spear up on his shoulder before walking forward to meet the man in the middle of the field. He stopped about fifteen feet away. “That’s far enough for me,” he held a palm to his opponent.

“What? Why’re you worried? You’ve got reach on me.”

A hush fell over the crowd as the drone cameras focused on the two young men’s faces. Their expressions visible through open-faced helmets and their words audible in the many giant screens throughout the arena.

“I just had one question?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you retarded?”

Drake raised a brow.

“Sticksies… sounds like a retard picked it,” the young man sneered.

“It’s cause I use a spear, which is basically a stick with a point,” he shrugged.

“Yup, I figured I was going up against a tard,” the young man snorted. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you because you’re special.”

“Are you a sadistic bastard because of a poor upbringing or is it the class? Nah, classes are just who we are on the inside. Since we’re being talkative I’m going to work you over for each opponent you’ve unnecessarily hurt.”

“Weak man’s mindset. That’s why I’m gonna tear you up like those other pussies.”

“Hey, I was wondering… Team Alpha Sigma… what the fuck does that mean? Team AR? Team 1200?”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“It’s Greek right? Do you even know it means?”

“Whatever, bro. I’m gonna make you my bitch.” He drew his axe and slammed it against his round shield. “C’mon, pussy! I’ll even let you take the first shot! C’mon! Bring it! Bitch! Bring it! Let’s rock, motherfucker!”

Drake threw his spear.

It thunked into the dirt next to the Team Alpha Sigma fighter’s right boot.

“Seriously? What a noodle-armed little bitch!” he laughed. “Do you even lift, kid!” he held his shield and axe arms out wide as he exhorted the crowd to join in the mockery. “Is this pussy for real?”

Drake drew his thin, double-edge dagger with his left hand. He held his right out toward his spear.

“What? You some kind of retard Thor?” the young man sneered. “Thor’s yoked. He ain’t a limp-wristed bitch like you!”

Drake smirked.

Spear Teleport.

He vanished with a pop and appeared an instant later with a hand on his spear.

The Alpha Sigma fighter stumbled back in surprised.

Drake was quicker.

He stabbed the dagger into the young man’s thigh piercing through tough, padded fabric. He cut deep before pulling it out and drawing back.

The fighter swung his axe with a curse, but Drake was already out of range.

“You should give up,” he said lightly, “cut your femoral… that’s an artery… vessels in your body that carry blood to and fr—”

“Fuck you, cheap ass bitch! I know what that is!”

“Yeah, well, then you know you’ve got like minutes maybe less before you bleed out. Unless you’ve got healing abilities, but if you did then you’d be using it right now,” he shrugged. “Only chance to live is to tap out, like a bitch, and get some healing.”

“That’s against the rules! You can’t kill on purpose!”

“I didn’t, though. I just stabbed you. There’s plenty— less time now— for you to get it fixed.”

“Brutal Throw!” the Alpha Sigma fighter hurled his axe.

Drake was quicker.

He spun his spear conjuring a magic shield.

The axe broke the shield but fell to the dirt.

Drake winced.

The Alpha Sigma fighter clamped a hand over his gushing wound. He cursed Drake to suffer anatomically impossible indignities before finally signaling his surrender.

“You better watch your back, noodle bitch! Me and my boys are gunning for you now!”

Drake smirked as the stadium medics rushed toward the Alpha Sigma fighter.

He waited for them to surround the fighter before walking back to his tunnel.

No reason to risk taking a cheap shot to the back.

“Isn’t that the kid Cal brought in?” Aims said.

“Yup, Drake-something,” Dastardly said. “He’s, like, the Furies’ puppy or something.”

“He’s got some good moves. We should recruit him,” Aims said.

“What’re you lazy a-holes doing over there? Get in here!” Hardhat snapped from the adjoining room.

Dastardly shut the TV off before following Aims.

The other motel room was packed with their combined squads, minus the few that had gone with Mouthy to ‘scout’ matches in person.

Dastardly knew that Mouthy had cheated the rock-paper-scissors match. She knew it for a fact. “Give me some room,” she scowled at her young squaddies. Goddamn, did she hate tightly-packed spaces, especially if what it was packed with was other people. “Any reason we can’t do this outside?”

Hardhat stared at her like she had sprouted a third boob in the middle of her forehead.

“Aside from the slavers watching,” Dastardly waved her idea away, “carry on.”

“Alright, who wants to go first?” Hardhat said.

“I will, sir,” Ranger Lasik said.

“Go on then.”

“Yeah,” the young ranger mage adjusted her heavy duty combat glasses and took a deep breath, “we, um, Squad 105 scouted sites B-1, B-2 and B-5. Confirmed intelligence received from source. They are…” her face twisted, “birthing sites. We observed intermittent traffic in and out. Mostly non-collar wearing people, manager-types. Most of the regular staff live on site and are collared… er… enslaved. There are only one to three slavemasters per location at any one time. We’d need more observation to confirm this last bit, but, we think that they bring pregnant women… er… with collars, enslaved… you know what I mean… they bring them in at about a month out from birth. Without going inside we don’t know how they handle all the… uh… post-birth stuff.”

“No babies taken out?” Dastardly said.

“Yeah, but they looked a few months old. Hard to tell how old babies are, sir,” Lasik said.

“Good, thanks Lasik, Squad 105,” Hardhat said. “That leads us perfectly to Squad 87, Ranger Vicks.”

“Sir,” the young man saluted. “Nursery sites marked as N-3, N-6, N-12, N-17. Confirmed. N-3 had 10 children. N-6, 7 children. N-12, 11 children. N-17, 14 children. Same age range for all sites. Youngest was a baby and oldest looked 3.”

“Thanks, Vicks,” Hard hat said. “Cheery Chapstick, you’re up.”

“Sir,” the young man stood up from where he was seated at the small table.

“What’s wrong, ranger, you look like you walked in on mommy, daddy and the mailman,” Dastardly said.

“I wish, sir,” he exchanged looks with his squad. He exhaled. “Squad 73 observed sites A-1 and A-2. We found… what we expected according to our source. They keep people on site in shitty cages like they were animals. They do their fucking auctions twice a week. The people get collared right on site and get taken by the winning bidders or delivered later by auction house staff, some of whom are enslaved themselves.”

“They’re going to postpone some of those sales thanks to Captain Butcher’s guys,” Aims said.

“No offense, sir, but that feels like barely any consolation when we watched a couple of hundred people get sold into slavery in just the last few weeks,” Cheery Chapstick said.

“The plan’s on track,” Hardhat said. “We just need to do our jobs and all of this will be over soon. Christmas, then New Year’s, then a few more weeks after that we free the enslaved and make the slavers pay.”

“Er… not that we’re doubting, sir, but—” Lasik began.

“Yo, Lasik, that’s basically saying you’re doubting, smh,” Ranger Timber said.

“Let her speak,” Hardhat said.

“It’s hard to see that happening when we don’t know the actual plan. Aside from surveillance, what else is expected of us when all the shit goes down, as it always does. I mean, we’re in the middle of slaver land surrounded by a few hundred soldiers. That’s not even accounting how we’re supposed to handle the collared ones. Doesn’t seem right to just kill them.”

“You kill them if they’re trying to kill you,” Dastardly said. “We’ve been over this. You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Your lives come before any man, woman or child that’s trying to stick a spear in your guts, even if they’re wearing a collar.”

“We recognize that it is impossible to expect to save everyone,” Hardhat said.

“I know, sir, I remember our orders,” Lasik said.

“Good, just stick to them and you’ll be in the best position for success,” Hardhat said. “Any other concerns of this nature? No? Good… on to next week’s surveillance targets. First of all, Squad 73, you’re off surveillance duties. Squad 39 will take over. You’ve got the option of going to watch Shrewed’s next match in person. Squad 105 you’ve got the auction sites. Squad 39, the rest of the nursery sites. Squad 87, start scouting the quickest, safest route to where the NorCal companies are staying at.”

“What’s the priority on that, sir? Quickest or safest?” Vicks said.

“Quickest, followed by safest,” Hardhat said.

“C’mon, squad on me,” Dastardly rose and headed back through the adjoining door, “let’s figure out how you’re going to do this.”

Busy was good for all of them even if the work and the environment was objectively terrible for a person’s soul.

At least for those with human souls by Dastardly’s reckoning.

You didn’t have one if you didn’t bat an eye at the auction houses, the breeding hospitals.

It took a special kind of bastard to think to breed humans like cattle.

Three weeks in.

Christmas around the corner.

New Year’s a little after.

A few more weeks…

She couldn’t wait to see what Rayna’s brother had really planned for these slaver shits.

Whatever it took from her, she was willing to give it, however small a part she played.

It was right. It was enough.

The hotel’s large banquet hall was filled with the sounds of battle.

Not the kind that led to fatal wounds.

Just the kind that led to bruises, knocks and, if you were unlucky, concussions and maybe a broken bone or two.

Dull practice weapons clanged against each other, against shields, against padded clothing and the person beneath.

Fighters worked hard to keep their edges keen.

Marci flicked the tip of her practice spear up underneath her opponents guard, tapping him on the chest. At the same time she slipped her head to the side to avoid her second opponent’s thrust. She pivoted on her rear leg and smoothly slid the butt of her spear between the second opponent’s legs sweeping him to the ground. She spun the spear tip around and tapped the man’s helmet.

The man cursed.

She held out a hand and helped him to his feet.

“That was… not bad,” she said.

“You don’t have to make us feel not bad,” Julio said.

“We’re learning a lot more getting our asses kicked on a daily basis,” Owen said.

“Thanks, guys… next!”

Marci sparred for the next hour and a half with the more daring members of the spear company.

She faced them two, three and even four at a time.

It was the only way for a Level 40 expert spearwoman to build up a sweat.

The California State Government had sent a mixed company of 200 spears and 150 ranged and support under the command of Spear Captain Doran to, ostensibly, support Rino in the Gold Division and a handful of others in the lesser divisions.

If that raised suspicions in the slaver kingdom they had yet to give any indications in that regard.

The slavers had put them up in a hotel along with all of the other outsider forces.

Luckily for them, their size meant that they had the place to themselves. Unlike the other, smaller companies, bands and parties that had to share.

A lot of fights had broken out over the last few weeks.

Contests on the fields had spread to supporters.

It was almost nostalgic.

Surprisingly, there hadn’t been any fatalities.

The slave soldiers were quick to come in overwhelming force to stop said fights before they got out of control.

Spells and Skills kept people from dying from wounds that would’ve done them in during the old days.

And there was something unmanning about facing the people in those collars.

There was no fear in their eyes.

Doran knew that when the time came the slave soldiers would be their biggest problem.

He put his practice spear up on the rack and grabbed a towel wiping off the thick sheen of sweat on his face.

The bane of any commander waited for him back in his suite.

He made his way through the lobby and made an effort to look every collar wearing hotel staff member in the eyes.

Not that they cared.

It was eerie to see them with almost identical smiles on their faces.

He and his officers had made sure to drill it into their men and women to be on their best behavior despite what the slavers had said upon welcoming them.

As representatives of the California State government, they would not avail themselves of the added free ‘amenities’ the enslaved could provide upon request.

He found his best scout and his two best killers waiting for him as soon as the elevator doors slid open.

Jimenez, Selena and Rowen saluted.

The latter’s was terrible as always.

Doran let it go.

Rowen and Selena weren’t technically part of his company.

They reported directly to the governor.

“Let’s talk inside,” he said. “Report,” he ordered as soon as he sat down at his desk.

“The king’s castle, the port and the Cabal’s HQ. Those tripped my danger sense the worse, in that order. There are dangers everywhere around us, captain,” Jimenez said.

“No access to the first and the last,” Doran said.

“I could give it a shot,” Rowen said.

“No, there’s a bigger plan in play and we’re only playing a small part. We don’t do anything beyond marking out potential threats and targets unless I get told otherwise.” Doran joted notes on the map laid out flat on his desk. “The port… did you get a closer look?”

“No. Access across the bridge was strictly monitored. I didn’t want to risk drawing attention,” Jimenez said.

“How close did you get?”

“As close as I thought safe.”

“Don’t worry about it, captain,” Rowen said. “As far as anyone looking was concerned we were just a local family out for a stroll. A big, fat woman,” he nodded at Selena, “a short, fat man,” he tapped his chest, “and their sullen, teen daughter that clearly needs to eat more,” he nodded at Jimenez.

“I told you that was a mistake. How many fat people do you see walking around out there?” Selena said.

“I literally based those illusions on people I saw the other day.”

“Oh… that’s just great, you just, maybe, implicated an innocent family in espionage,” Selena said.

“Not so innocent,” Rowen said flatly. “They had a slave carrying their bags.”

“Back to the report,” Doran said.

“The king’s castle is the biggest mansion in the richest part of this place. And they built an actual wall around it. Twenty feet high at the lowest. Full-on gatehouse thing with an iron gate and doors. That’s just the outer wall. There are more walls inside, though not as tall or thick, sectioning off the property. Don’t know what for,” Jimenez said.

“Reminded of prison,” Rowen said.

“It looked like they added to the original house, even though it looks seamless. It’s huge,” Jimenez said.

“Noted,” Doran said. “The Cabal?”

“Office tower,” Jimenez shrugged. “Posted guards at external doors, but nothing else to indicate it as the Cabal’s main base of operations.”

“A lot of unsightly magic coming off of that place,” Rowen shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to go in there uninvited… and especially, invited, going from the reports SoCal shared with us about what those degenerates do with their magic.”

“They shouldn’t be our problem. I’m just covering angles,” Doran said. “I’ll pass on what you found at the port. Knowing him, he probably already knows.”

“Then if he hasn’t told us… doesn’t that mean that he doesn’t expect us to face it?” Jimenez said.

Doran saw the plain hope on her face. “Most likely, but you were in the Philippines, plans are good… until they aren’t.”

Jimenez nodded.

“Alright, is that all?”

Nods all around.

“Jimenez, you’re off for the rest of the day, except—”

“I know, sir, I’m always paying close attention to my danger sense.”

“Not to the detriment of your mental well-being. I need you sharp for the weeks to come. Besides, we have plenty of other hands to handle the load. Try to relax a little. It can’t be easy handling the strain of this place,” Doran said. “Selena, Rowen, I’ve got a job for you. I need you two to be my go-between to the Golden Eagles.”

“That’s the merc company that Cruces guy handed Vegas to,” Rowen frowned.

“You will ask to speak to their commander, a man named Ledge. You will say this phrase exactly…” Doran hesitated. “The stick up my butt is straight and stiff.”

Rowen laughed.

Selena nodded.

“And in reply, he will say that is why I always look like I smelled something bad… repeat it,” he kept a straight face. The mark of a true professional was remaining one, especially, when those around you refused to do the same.

Selena uttered the pass phrase verbatim.

“Yeah, she’ll handle that part,” Rowen chuckled.

“Repeat it,” Doran said flatly.

The man shrugged then did it just as perfectly.

“This is only to establish contact. In the coming days we’ll be sharing information back and forth. It is vitally important that no outside observers make the connecting between us and the Golden Eagles. Is that understood?”

“Don’t worry, I’m nearing Level 40. It’d take someone in their mid 40’s and with specialized spells or Skills to see through or break my illusions without a lot of effort,” Rowen said.

“I’ll keep him alive, captain,” Selena said.

“Yes, please. My body needs guarding, bodyguard,” Rowen grinned.

“You’re all dismissed.”

Doran waited for them to leave before relaxing.

He took that shower and then heated up some leftover pasta.

They were hypocrites for eating the food prepared and cooked by the enslaved.

It saved them from dipping into their own supplies and gave their support staff more time to put toward other pursuits.

One might ask how could he trust the slavers’ food?

Simple.

They inspected it and they had those with danger sense try them first.

A new take on an ancient concept.

Except, their food tasters didn’t actually have to eat the possibly poisoned meals.

Just sitting down with the intent was enough to trigger the Skill or not.

He sat down at the table and only then noticed the giant, monster of a bird staring at him from the balcony.

“Damn it! You just about gave me a heart attack, Goldy.”

The eagle tilted her head and blinked then pointedly turned her piercing gaze toward the sliding door handle.

“You’re too damn smart,” he muttered as he let the, possibly, largest eagle in modern history, waddle into the suite. “Well… what is this about?”

Goldy hopped up onto the table with a flap of her wings.

The gust was strong enough that Doran had to lean into it to avoid stumbling back a step or two.

“That’s…”

Goldy pecked at his pasta.

“… my lunch,” he sighed.

He watched her pick out the larger slices of Italian sausage until none remained.

Satisfied, Goldy waddled toward Doran and used her beak to untie the cord fastening a plastic tube to one leg. She presented the message to him with an almost military air.

Back straight, head held high.

“Did you know there’s a merc company called the ‘Golden Eagles’?”

Goldy nodded.

Doran frowned. “It’s like you can actually understand me,” he muttered.

This was the first time he had been up close to actual evidence of such. Knowing there were classes that allowed a person to make their pets stronger, smarter and better in practically every way didn’t prepare one to witness it first hand. He was aware of the Hillary girl… He was there in the Philippines when her older brother, Ron had been killed in action by a cannibalistic aswang. The man had died bravely, Doran remembered.

Bravery ran in that family.

Goldy screeched.

It sounded indignant or insulted.

“Sorry… you do understand me. So, thank you for delivering Jake’s report. Wait a moment while I get my update for Watch Commander Lawrence.”

Doran strode back to his office.

When he returned with the message tube his pasta was gone.

Goldy stood still as a statue on the opposite side of table looking out.

Doran’s eyes narrowed at the flecks of marinara sauce on the eagle’s huge beak. “Can you even digest pasta?”

Goldy simply held out her leg.

He gingerly tied the message keeping clear of her talons. “Bigger than my hands,” he shook his head. “Listen up, soldier,” he said as Goldy hopped down to the floor. “I know Hillary’s got a Skill to make it so that a giant dinosaur like you is harder to spot up there, but don’t showboat. Don’t take risks. We cannot have our messages fall into enemy hands. Understood?”

The damn eagle moved one wing in what almost looked like a salute before waddling out onto the balcony and taking off.

It was a strange sight, but if he was being honest it didn’t even crack the top 5 of his personal list.

He went back into the kitchen and warmed up another plate of pasta. He ate as he read Jake’s update.

“Another Christmas party invitation?” Cal said.

Tlaloc or Bitterman as he was currently known tossed the letter onto the desk before slowly sitting down in the chair.

“Contemptible people,” Bitterman spat.

“Please don’t spit inside. You’ll just have to clean it and getting down there’s going to be killer on your knees and back.”

They eyed the glob on the hardwood floor. Then each other.

“Well, I’m not going to do it and are you really going to let one of the maids do it?”

“Tch…” Bitterman groaned out of the chair and wiped his spit up with a handkerchief.

“Any more problems with Don’s free guards?”

“No… only the most dutiful ones are staying in their posts. The rest spend their days and nights in the bars and brothels. I hear them talking about this place called ‘Creamland’. It sounds disgusting, a place for contemptible people.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah…”

“And you will deal with it?”

“It’s on the list. It holds one of the highest concentrations of enslaved men, women and children in one place at any one time outside of the king’s castle and those other places.”

“And they will all continue to suffer while we wait for the perfect moment.”

“C’mon, man… how many times do I have to explain this.”

“We know that the central control unit thing is in the king’s castle.”

“We suspect it is,” he pointed out. “We don’t know it for a fact.”

“Then find out! And don’t say it’s on the list!” Bitterman snapped.

“Look, dude… there’s a central control unit, but there’s also all those other units coma-draining enslaved scattered through the city. I want some clarity that those things can’t act as temporary backups or something like that. Now, I’ve got some smart magic-technology guys looking into that.”

“We should just attack the castle. We don’t even need all your allies. I’ll crush the king, while you destroy the slaver machine with the elf’s magic thing, yeah, yeah,” Bitterman forestalled his objection, “I’ll wait for you to tell me that it worked before I separate his head from his body. I’ll simply break him and keep him broken before then.”

“I wish it was that easy, but don’t underestimate him. He’s a shit person, but that doesn’t make him weak and not dangerous. From what little I’ve dared to look into, he’s pushing Level 50 if not over already. Remember the scale. It’d take ten Level 40’s to match one Level 50 in the same class.”

“Fights aren’t linear. It isn’t simple math.”

“I know that. That’s why you don’t always go with what’s on paper. Heart, preparation, luck. So many different factors outside of physical stats determine winners and losers. We’re just trying to push as much of that to our side as possible before we strike. And ultimately, our goal is to free people without hurting or killing them.”

“I understand.”

“Good, cause it feels like I’ve been trying to talk you down from doing something stupid way too much these days.”

“Months in this shithole has made me angry,” Bitterman said.

“Well, keep control of it and harness it for when you actually need it, which will be soon. Christmas is coming up and I’m going to make use of the distraction.”

Bitterman’s eyes narrowed.

“Tell me, the other nobles’,” he snorted, “messengers… did they say anything about Don not throwing a party this year?”

“You already know the answer,” Bitterman frowned.

“Yeah, they’re expecting another massive orgy, but that’s not happening here.

“I’d kill them all first—”

“Soon enough… you see, everyone’s going to be busy with something on Christmas. Big matches to watch during the day and big parties to attend during the night. The king’s throwing one,” he plucked the invitation from the pile on his desk and tossed it to Bitterman, “I’m going.”

“We’ll be going?”

“No. You’re staying here to protect the people and our little secret down in his little dungeon. I’m going as Don… at first. Then as myself while I search.”

“Finally… I’ve been getting sick of your cowardice.”

He ignored the jibe. “Once I confirm the location of the central control unit we can solidify our plans to put an end to this place.”