Slumrat Rising

Truth decided that he would combine his job with his hobby and hunt for pawns with his dinner. The concierge had been quite happy to arrange a reservation at Number 5 Laurel- debatably the best restaurant in Gwaju but indisputably the most expensive. The concierge couldn’t quite remember what room Truth was in, but that was clearly the concierge’s problem, not the honored guest’s!

Truth was depressed to see how effective Incisive was at persuading people he was a rich, powerful prick. It took him a solid five minutes to remember that, as a Level Four in Jeon, he definitionally was a rich, powerful prick. It was a significant adjustment from the last time he was in country. Back then, nobody gave a damn about him, but they feared the lapel pin. Now? He didn’t need the pin. He was simply above the mob. Which meant that it was time to test how well Incisive held up against his actual peers.

No more small-time pawns like De’Ponte. He needed elites- people with Levels and wealth enough to make them a substantial threat to local Starbrite Operations. Elite revolt was a hell of a lot more common than a peasant revolt and infinitely more successful. Starbrite would react strongly to the rich making moves.

The carpet dropped him a block from Number 5 Laurel. He wanted to scout a bit, to test things and give himself room to run if the Blessing of the Silent Forest and Incisive didn’t hold up as well as he hoped against other Level Four’s. He wouldn’t try for full imperceptibility. Rather, he wanted to try and nudge everyone’s perception. He looked himself over.

His scarf, the Freedom of the Terraces, looked rather classy in blue and white with a golden wheel logo on the end. He didn’t recognize the team logo. As far as he knew, nobody played Pitz outside of Siphios. It could be anything or anyone. A black fitted tee shirt, gray trousers, black shoes. No belt. No hat. Just enough stubble. His hair was getting a little long. Not badly so, but longer than he really liked.

He… felt a little weird about having someone other than Etenesh cut it. Which he knew perfectly well was silly. And yet.

Truth pushed his hair back, straightened his shoulders, and tried to figure out who he was going to be tonight.

He was in his thirties. Clearly fit and confident. Youthful until you started taking in the details. The faint cruelty in his eyes, the utter confidence in his posture. He was older than he looked. Maybe a lot older than thirty. And clearly stunningly rich.

He was so rich he could turn up to a fancy restaurant in casual clothes. Clothes that probably cost more than the suits everyone else was wearing, jewelry included. He would have to be staggeringly wealthy. Level Four in his thirties? No lapel pin? Oh, his possible origins would be spicy to speculate about. This was global-tier wealth.

Yes, he was the second generation of some globally wealthy family, clearly from Jeon, but not known to the public. He had been sent to this little place to do a task for the family. And his family didn’t weather the centuries by being soft, or selecting heirs based on their kindness. He was like the sadistic bosses in his romance novels. Cruel, powerful, charismatic. To become his pet was your blessing. And he knew it.

Truth walked up to the door, seemingly ignoring the Level Threes and Fours stepping out of their luxury chariots and carriages, handing command medallions and threats to the valets. Carefully measuring their reactions. There were no whispers, only looks. Some admiring. Many yearning. More still warning, reminding their companions to shut up. He walked directly to the door. Those ahead, even those nominally on his level, cleared a path.

He said nothing to the head waiter, but that was no problem. He was expected. His table was waiting. Truth ordered the set menu, a fourteen course tasting experience. He skipped the wine pairing, and commanded the staff to create a bespoke non-alcoholic beverage to pair with each course. It was disturbingly easy to fall into the persona. It was the other part of the scales of Incisive. The more weight the world attached to this identity, that identity being “A rich, powerful, prick” the more he truly inhabited the role.

Truth casually surveyed the room. It was tastefully decorated. He was guessing on that, but it had the sort of stripped down look he associated with extremely expensive things. Custom everything, he would bet. The tasting menu was loaded with off-world ingredients too. He may be one of the last people on this planet who would ever taste them.

He took inventory of the people dining. Mostly Level Threes, with a hell of a lot of seven pointed stars on lapels. He noticed that none of the Starbrite people sat alone, or with other people from Starbrite. A lot of expensive suits and dresses pouring what he suspected were crushingly expensive bottles of wine for their Starbrite guests.

The notion of trying to network someone with a Starbrite pin via an expensive dinner was… grim, actually. Now that he thought about it. It meant that you didn’t have a better option. How screwed did you have to be that you could afford dinner here, but still need to burn money to impress a Starbrite employee? Even a private dinner at home would be a better choice, right? Or something? He was vague on how that all worked.

In a room full of people eating very expensive food, Truth was the only one smiling while he chewed. The Starbrite people looked tense or low-key pissed that they had to take the meeting. He could read the body language- these were not confident, happy, profit-maximizing, value generation heroes. They didn’t know what was going on any more than anyone else did, but they were getting leaned on for information and support anyway.

Truth chuckled darkly as he dug into the tiny plates of food. He understood why higher level people, financially and in cultivation, referred to lower levels as ants. They scurried around, warring on each other, and none could see more than a fraction of an inch in front of them. Just blindly following the leader. And so easily crushed, too. Well. So far, he could confidently say that no one was piercing through his scales, so he relaxed, enjoyed his food, and slowly picked out his targets.

Truth didn’t quite understand the nuance of what he was doing. The Level Threes wisely chose not to glace too much towards him. Confidence was always attractive, and right now? Even disguised, he was a bonfire in a forest of moths. The Level Fours were less reserved. This was not a big city, and he was a stranger, brash and bold, splashing into their little pond. And since Truth was making no effort to hide his cultivation, he was making quite a large splash.

He screamed power, wealth and connections. And he wasn’t scared. They didn’t want to be talking to whoever they were talking to. They wanted to be talking to him.

After the fourteenth tiny plate, Truth sat back with a contented sigh. He had no damn idea what he just ate. They told him what the food was, but he still didn’t know what he ate. It was only technically food. Eating was… the mechanism, he supposed. The way you had the experience of dining at Number 5 Laurel.

One dish was simply called “Bread and Butter,” which consisted of a single piece of bread and a rough knob of butter, served on a sheet of basalt. It was one of the more memorable things he ever ate. The sheet of basalt was quite thin, but quite long. It required four fit looking waiters to hold it in place while his “gastronomic experience coordinator” explained how to eat it.

The waiters would hold the slab. He would pick up the bread in his left hand, scoop up the butter with the knife held in his right hand, and “Thoroughly enrobe the upper surface of the bread, appreciating the sensory journey the experience takes you on.”

He was then to bring the bread and butter close, take a long smell, then eat it. His eyes should be closed after the sniff, and he was firmly encouraged to “Devote your full emotional commitment to the ingredients, their journey, the dish and it’s journey, and how they have all culminated in your journey.”

All while the waiters stood waiting, holding roughly a hundred kilos of stone between them. Truth did as instructed. It really was excellent bread. Soft, a touch sweet, a little sour, the crust crunched satisfyingly and the crumb had a soft but resilient chew. The butter was the best he had ever eaten. Rich, salty, creamy, a hint of grass and a touch of sweet. When Truth opened his eyes, the first things he saw were the waiters, strictly facing away from him. He exhaled slowly, leaning back into his seat. It wasn’t about the food. It was about the experience. He savored every bite.

The waiter brought over a little tray of nuts and tiny, two centimeter cakes, “a gift from the kitchen.” Truth smiled once again, looking at them, then looked up and around the room casually. Now, who exactly would be paying for this meal? The Revolution needed financial backers.

He didn’t touch the cakes. He just sat back and waited. He didn’t move a centimeter. Just sat there, relaxed as could be.

“Pardon my interruption, but I think you are expecting me.”

The one bold enough to actually come to his table was a woman. Not brash, and smart enough to not try seduction. She might be Level Four, but she was also old enough to be his mother. Actually, given the beautification magics and glamors available in Jeon, she might actually be old enough to be his grandmother. A tough old bird, then, but still scared. Same as everyone. Truth nodded and indicated the seat across from her.

“Thank you. My name is-” Truth raised a hand and stopped her. He pointed to a little cake. He then picked one up and ate it. She did the same. Truth enjoyed the little bite- it was so sweet! The rich bitterness of the chocolate frosting seemed to unfold in layers of flavor. His enjoyment was obvious. Hers was forced.

“Thank you. I…” She clearly didn’t know where to begin. Truth didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he really wanted to say, so he just looked at her. A little smile on his face. She looked torn between laughter and outrage.

“You know, this is absurd. I own five major companies across southern Jeon. I directly employ more than two thousand people. My net worth, until last month I suppose, was a hotly debated question between my accountants and my tax lawyers. People sold their souls, in one case literally, for the chance to even talk to me. Now, I am desperately hoping that a stranger in a restaurant can save my life, and the life of my family.”

Truth smiled a little more at that, but only for a moment. He said nothing. Just looked at her, waiting.

She rubbed her thumb over her fingers and glanced away. When she turned back, she tried to fix Truth with a glare. “Who are you?” Truth let the smile slip away from his face. He didn’t know who this person was. Just that she was one of those people who kept the slums going. She did not get to speak to him that way. Disrespectful animals get put down. She paled, feeling the certainty of death settling around her.

“I apologize. Please. I. I am very sorry. I won’t make that mistake again.” She looked down at her hands, not thinking or caring of how she looked to everyone else in the room. Truth eased off the killing intent. Silence returned. He waited for her to speak again.

The silence was painful, filling with the woman’s fear. The young master was cruel and patient, everyone could see that. But he could reward the obedient. She remembered the little cake. Her eyes widened momentarily. The cake- when she followed instructions and sat. When she was silent until invited to speak. He was inviting her to speak now. Provided she did so properly.

“I am looking for shelter. Primarily for myself. My family, too, if I can. I am looking for… hope. To either get off this world or survive the collapse. Even if I sold everything for what it was really worth, I couldn’t afford a ticket. I have no hope of finding “her,” whoever “she” is. And I know perfectly well I can’t punish the person responsible for her disappearance.”

Truth let his smile widen slightly. She was emboldened.

“Give me something to cling to, and I will pledge my service to you. I will bring my strength, which is still worth something, and whatever value my network has. And so long as the word has meaning, my wealth will serve your own. But I need that thing. That line to the future. Can-” She bowed her head again. Recovered. “Will you offer me that?”

Truth smiled softly. He extended his hand. Tentatively, she reached out. He took her hand and turned it palm up. He raised his index finger and looked her in the eyes. “This is going to hurt,” his eyes promised. She didn’t move. Using the barest hint of the fangs, he carved coordinates on her palm and a date. It was so sharp she didn’t feel the pain until he was done and the blood started to bead. It would scar. They both knew that. She would never dare to remove it.

He leaned over, started to whisper, then stopped. His eyes crinkled, and he shook his head slightly. Stood and walked out the door of the restaurant. At the precise boundary between the interior and exterior, he vanished from their sight.

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