Slumrat Rising

Several things clicked all at once. Gullvar was a Holdout, or at least Anakson was. This Project Golden Dawn was intended to activate once the planet’s magic collapsed. The Hyperthaumobaric Chamber must be conditioning her body to endure whatever the Giant Seed requires. She was either sent to the restaurant to trawl for other hidden powers, or the conditions of being in the program were so horrible she wanted to be rescued. In any case, she had jumped on the lead Truth had given her. The mysteriously empty, staged house, along with her meager possessions, hinted at some kind of mental conditioning or control. Strip away everything but what’s needed for the job. He could relate.

A woman who almost certainly inherited her vast wealth and spent a lifetime defending it. Despite her limited cultivation, and when you had “Own your own apartment building” money, Level Four was low, she had been successful in protecting her inheritance. Until the end of the world was announced. Until everyone was to be enrolled in the System and their money converted into Credits.

Did the rich of Jeon know just what enrolling in Starbrite meant? They must have some suspicion, surely. Gullvar didn’t give a shit if she looked desperate, or if she got rid of all her nice things, or stripped her mansion down to set dressing. Life, as she had understood that term, ended in four weeks. She needed an out. Now.

Truth didn’t have one for her. Neither did Anakson, from what he could see. Just the promise that, after everything falls down, if you live, you will be valued… somewhat.

Truth sighed lightly. He would have to prioritize finding the demon summoners and the Ghūl for now. He just couldn’t see through the depths here, and he wasn’t prepared to throw away his life in the hope of an outsized palace coup by the outraged hundred-millionaires of Gwaju City. He’d throw investigating Anak and Sons and Offworld Exports to Merkovah, if possible. Otherwise, he’d just keep them in mind for the future.

Sighing, he started cleaning up what he touched and putting everything back the way he found it. He had been tidying as he went, so it wasn’t a big job. Still, a disappointing end to a long day.

I don’t suppose those spells we found are incredible doomsday-level, planet-cracking thaumaturgy? Something so terrible and forbidden that they alone were reason enough for the house of Gullvar to endure the centuries unmolested?

>

Wait, weirder than doomsday spells?

Truth sighed and finished tidying up. He helped himself to exactly ten percent of one of the stacks of cash. Manifestly the least valuable thing there, and the “thief” only took ten percent? She’d wonder if she miscounted or misremembered how much she had set aside. Besides, how much would she care about ten thousand worthless wen, even if she were to count them? But it was more than enough to last Truth for a good while.

He left the gold. There were only ten of them, and he’d bet she paid a lot of attention to them.

He lay down on the roof for a moment, staring up into the gray spring clouds. Might rain in a bit- no, it was raining; the wards were just diverting the rain away from the building. A mansion in the clouds, untouched by the wind and rain. Haunted by those who still lived, yet no longer lived there. Gullvar and his mom had a lot in common- both trying to find that hustle that would get them to true wealth and safety. Ready to sell whatever part of themselves the Diamond Product Ambassador needed to feed their sadism.

Convincing themselves they were survivors, not well-trained prey. Perhaps they were both. What a miserable thought- they were caught and shorn, not caught and killed. Not that he felt bad for either of them. It was just miserable that this was the way the world was. This was the system of the world, working as intended.

He shook his head, stood, dusted his ass, and walked away. Time to go see a man about a demon.

____________________________________________

Truth was a bit perplexed. He had expected a tense game of cat and mouse, running down clues and beating confessions out of people. The application of certain subtle drugs with notoriously unsubtle results. So in a sense, it was lucky for both him and the heavily pregnant receptionist that the Jeon Society For Social Renewal was a publicly registered non-profit that maintained a small local office in Gwaju. Truth’s carpet driver could locate it with a minor divination. Wasn’t anything fancy- three rooms in a low-rise office building, plus a reception area. The walls were painted a cheery purple, and the floors were easily cleaned tile.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but Vice-President Bosch works out of our Harban branch. The most senior person here is Terry, our Branch Manager, but Terry is currently out. Could I take a message for you?” The young man looked feverishly eager to be of service.

“No, thank you. I was just hoping to talk to someone and learn more about your organization.”

“That is so GREAT! I would love to set that up for you. Actually, if you don’t mind, I might be able to answer some of your questions myself.” The receptionist’s smile looked painfully wide.

“Well, why don’t we schedule a meeting with Terry… when would he be free?”

“His calendar opens up after four this afternoon.”

“Book me a meeting then, please.” Truth made up a name on the spot and gave some fraudulent contact information. “In the meantime… What's it like working here?” Truth asked.

“It’s not work. It’s my life’s calling.”

“Being the receptionist?”

“Yes, exactly. Receiving people. Being the first person they meet when they come here. First impressions last a lifetime, and I am truly proud to be that first impression here at the JSSR. Proof of the possibility of true social renewal.”

“I can see that. You’re practically glowing. So can you tell me a bit about what the Society does?”

“Certainly! The JSSR has a simple goal- to free people from despair. Fear, pain, anxiety, all terrible things but they can be fought. Despair is when the fighting stops. When the gray closes in, and the cold seeps into your bones, and all you can do is give up and suffer a life worse than death. Trapped forever, in your lightless cell.” The receptionist’s smile vanished.

“Trapped so completely, you wouldn’t even step through a door if one appeared before you. Trapped in your mind.”

“Until the Society charges to the rescue.” Truth tried to get in the spirit of things.

“Oh, if only. No, this is a marathon of a march. We have been in operation for forty years now, and we have had our victories, but-” The receptionist gave a half smile and waved at the outside world. He didn’t seem to notice the way his other hand softly stroked his distended belly. “We can only do our best. The diseases of despair are endless, and endlessly spreading. Reinfecting each other.”

“Diseases of despair?”

“Depression, anxiety, personality disorders, and all the horrible things that come with them. Drug abuse. Sex addiction. Spouse or child abuse. Alcoholism.” The receptionist shook his head.

“Over and over again, people are told that prosperity is theirs if only they work hard enough. Yet no matter how hard they work, people never prosper. Their lives hurt. So they do something to numb the pain.

“They are told that they are responsible for buying the drugs, for taking them, for hitting their husbands. And of course there is some responsibility there, but what about the responsibility of the rest of Jeon? What about the responsibility of every person that participates in a sick society, a society that drives people to despair?”

Truth found himself nodding along. Hell, he’d had more or less the same thoughts himself recently. The receptionist leaned forward, eyes fever bright and fixed on Truth.

“I know you have seen it too. Just stand on the sidewalk and look around. Do you see anyone, anyone, who looks content? At peace? Or even worried but hopeful? Or do you see-”

“Despair. People who have given up, and all they can do is numb the pain and lash out. Which is another way to numb the pain, really.” Truth finished the sentence. This was all making sense to him.

“Exactly. And THAT is where the Society comes in.” The receptionist nodded firmly. “We do outreach programs, arrange mentorship opportunities for future thought leaders, engage with legislators and even reach out to businesses directly. All with the same goal- ending despair.”

“Must cost a fortune!” Truth said, looking for a rat.

“It does, but not the way you think. It’s all volunteer time. Our actual budget is tiny. We don’t accept outside donations and donations from members are capped at five hundred wen a year.”

“Wait, what? How do you get anything done? Hell, how can you afford the rent on this office?”

“Donated. The building owner is a member. We do pay a nominal rent, but it’s something like ten wen a month. Same with the office supplies, utilities, and the like. It’s either supplied by volunteers or we do without. I’m a volunteer. So is everyone at this branch, actually. We have… I think six full-time paid employees. They do clerical work in Harban.”

“That’s… incredible.” Truth meant it too. The office might not have been anything special, but it was entirely adequate.

“That, Mr. Malduci, is Social Renewal.” This was from a handsome middle-aged man coming through the door behind Truth. Level Three. Impressive for a tiny non-profit in the sticks. “Terry Blouthe, Bon’i let me know you were waiting, and I hurried back. It sounds like you are a fellow traveler. But Bon’i didn’t mention what you were here about?

“Well, it’s twofold. I recently came into a small inheritance and wanted to put it towards a worthy cause. The second thing was to learn exactly what the JSSR means when they talk about a renewed or healed society.”

“Ah, well, happy to steer you towards some excellent charities that we work with and that do take donations. As for the latter, why don’t we go into my office?”

They sat in the little, windowless office. Now that he was looking for it, Truth could spot the mismatched office furniture, scuffed and worn and doubtless second-hand. No pictures on the walls, but a very sizable bookshelf with an impressive-looking selection of file folders and textbooks. The desk was just a glorified table, dragged into serving double duty as a place to hold yet more files and a support for coffee cups.

“So, Mr. Malduci, having agreed that the world as it is, even before the Black Ships arrived, is an engine of misery, we have to look at what options exist. There is no denying that, for all the horror of the modern condition, we are also the generation with the highest degree of material comfort. Clearly, some elements of the system work. So rather than a pure leveling, we see ourselves returning balance to the social structures. Improving the morale of the people by putting them in a position to effect real control over their lives.”

Truth smiled and nodded. “I have to say, I am loving everything I am hearing so far. How exactly are you going to do that? Given the limited time we all appear to have?”

“Desperate times, M. Malduci, call for desperate measures. But never choices borne of despair! We see this as nothing less than a heaven-sent opportunity. You see, all these social systems are built on modern talisman systems and highly refined demon binding. Bonds so tight, they may as well be pure lumps of energy or the half-wit thinking of golems instead of the intelligent, sensitive beings they are. Saying nothing of the fact that they are the original inhabitants of this world.”

“Alright?”

“We must return them to their rightful position in society. Not above humanity, but our co-equal partners. This will naturally require significant shifts in public perception. Everyone hears the word “demon” and just freaks out. But look outside, Mr. Malduci. Look at the people you see around you. This world is already Hell, a place without hope. It is only by collaborating with demons that we can bring it closer to Heaven.

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