Chapter 58: Dan

Chapter 58: Dan

“DAN: What do you mean VAL isn’t cooperating with the research team?

MANNY: It’s like we’ve said repeatedly; it offers a modicum of support and claims it’s fulfilled its obligations and returns to independent research.

DAN: Then change its directives.

MANNY: You know that isn’t as simple as you say; every time we’ve adjusted them past the basic guidelines we’ve set, it finds a way to get back at us.

DAN: Get back at you? Goddamn, Manny, we’re talking about an AI here, a machine. It’s on a goddamn server. The only reason it isn’t operating at max efficiency is that you've failed at your job.

MANNY: Listen—you try dealing with it for a whole month, it’s passive-aggressive comments have had three of my researchers request transfers in the last year. It’s toxic.

DAN: All you do is complain. I chat with VAL every time I stop by; it’s nothing but pleasant. I think I’ll talk with it right now and get an honest read on the situation. The last time I stopped by, I asked it to conduct an evaluation of your performance. If my gut is right, I’m pretty sure VAL isn’t the problem here.

MANNY: Wait—sir—“

- Vortex Industries Transcript Log (2106, 2nd Era)

The network of sewers was like a labyrinth. It stretched long and winding, a manifestation of a horrible fate for anyone who dared to explore to get lost, starve, and die in a festering shithole. Completed by randomly collapsed tunnels and winding intersections, and long lonely stretches of ancient brackish wastewater. Yet it all had a mysterious way of blending together, adding to the confusion.

Long open corridors wore away on mental fortitude as a wanderer wondered what horror might lurk in its depths.

Every second spent in the sewer answered why Boldwick had only spent enough resources here to locate a suitable exit, after tracking Seven-Snakes’ encampment.

It spoke volumes that the scouts hadn't managed to find where VAL hid his Armor away.

Erec paced down the tunnel carefully—his good hand rested on the hatchet at his side. Though, he was well aware of the gun in his pouch. Despite Boldwick’s assertion that Olivia wouldn’t turn him in, Erec didn’t see a reason to chance it if he could help it.

“So bold,” She remarked as she trailed behind, her Armor making very little noise due to the shock absorption. A marvel that even piloting that steel frame, it made just about as much sound as his boots hitting the wet muck and concrete. “To think that even without Armor and injured, you insist on leading, let alone pushing for such a mission.”

Erec kept staring at the dark ahead, always looking for something shifting around, even though, for the most part, it seemed abandoned.

[Forward, down this way.]

His biggest advantage. An effortless way to overcome the other scout’s trouble with determining layout. He had a machine in his head to do the mapping for him. VAL kindly kept a record of everything—even stating it could create a visual display on the Armor with the map—once they retrieved it.

It couldn’t be much further away.

“I’m not bold,” Erec said, hand on the hatchet. Even with the gun—it felt far more natural to hold onto the weapon. Luckily, one of the Knights packed it away in case they needed to cut down a door and agreed to let him borrow it.

Once he returned to the Academy, he’d have to have a long and apologetic discussion with the quartermaster. That war axe held a lot of meaning to the man. Even now, the thought ripped at his heart the slightest bit. But, it's better to admit and own up to it than try to beat around the bush.

Olivia was more than capable of taking care of the rat-like monster alone. Which was good—Erec’s wounds were recovering quicker than expected with a daily dose of treatment from the priests. They ran across a couple more she dispatched with ease throughout their scouting.

The irony of them healing his wounds with a forbidden gun hidden away in a satchel out in the sewers wasn’t lost on him.

He left it just outside in the sewers and claimed it was more practical to keep it there to avoid the risk of losing it in the chaos of the subway encampment. Olivia gave him that nod of hers, the nod that Erec quickly learned to mean was ‘of course, Sir.’ But it actually meant, ‘I’ll pretend to agree, even if I know that’s not all there is to it.’ Working in a noble house, especially a duchy, would mean that such a reaction and nod was commonplace for her.

Or at least he imagined.

The frustrating truth was that he couldn’t know what was going on in that head of hers and what info she noted down to use later. It made him nervous. So he asked her questions to fill the silence.

Namely, he pressed her about his friend and her intentions. To his surprise, when she spoke of Garin, there was only pure joy. His friend was a topic that she didn’t seem to get enough of—even asking him about some of their adventures together as kids.

They would return to eat and check in at lunch, then head back out.

It was a good sign, or at least Erec assumed it was, that she had such a positive interest in Garin’s history. She genuinely cared, which went a long way toward relieving him of the suspicion she was using his best friend.

But he couldn’t grasp her motives, and on the second day, when he asked after her employment and goals for working for the duchy, she got evasive and noncommittal. Not outright denying any of the accusations he threw out, but not answering them. And who was he to judge? He’d lied to her again and again.

They made it to the third day and discovered a better exit that took them further from the chaos above. It wasn’t long on their way to return to everyone that the communicator buzzed.

“Barrier broken, spilling through—“ a clatter of fighting and shouts.

Old man Fulton’s voice came through the communications, gravelly and grave. “Knight Errants and above respond to the front line, provide support and prepare for an emergency retreat; we’ll be going through the sewers a day earlier than expected. Initiates prepare to leave.”

Erec shared a look with Olivia before they both sped back the way they’d come—headed right back to the encampment. He needed to show them the better route.

He needed to get to the battlefield and fight.

Erec shook his head as his metal boots slammed against the concrete, shoving him forward through space. It was like one of those old-world tales—a siren’s call. A sweet song, tempting him with the beauty of battle—why did it grip him so? He couldn’t afford to join the fighting, he was too injured, and they needed him to help direct people through the sewers.

Ignore it.

Ignore that fire inside; it didn’t matter what the beast said from its cage, how it promised that the injuries weren’t as big of a deal as he thought. How, if it lent him just an ounce of its power, he’d have enough Strength to help save others.

Have enough Strength to coat a tunnel in blood and stand on a pile of his enemy's corpses.

He’d be a hero. A warrior of unparalleled might.

There’s no such thing as heroes.

The gun clinked against his Armor as it swayed with his movements as he ran with a burst of speed down the tunnel, towards death and destruction.