Slumrat Rising

Truth’s hand slammed backwards before the door could close. Incisive was being very insistent. The more the door closed, the more danger he was in. Which was a hell of a take about an empty, concrete stairwell. The stairs were even designed to be no-slip, with a sensible, sturdy handrail. It was well lit, and there was even an illuminated EXIT sign above the door. Sensible safety innovation right there. This was a ten out of ten stairwell. And he was quite sure he would die if he closed the door.

He laid down on the roof, peeking his head around the door frame. There really was nothing obviously wrong with the place. He eased a little further in, wondering if it was something deeper inside. He wasn’t seeing anything.

He briefly imagined sending Perks to scout, but he firmly squashed the idea. Sending your pet into a known trap is not good pet owner behavior. Instead, he opted for keeping the door open with a few cans of beans. If whatever the danger was, was tied to the door closing, he would just keep it open.

He slowly crept in, carefully observing where every step would land, interrogating every slightly off-color patch of cement on the walls, and staring up into the light fixtures for any unpleasant surprises. It continued to look safe. Which was suspicious. He tested each step as he went. No sudden flares of alarm. No indications of hidden pressure plates or sneakily loosened bolts. Frankly, the build quality was so high, he was starting to doubt if it was really made by Jeon contractors. Proof, if more was needed, that Starbrite really did have mind controlled drones working for him.

He could vividly remember the building collapse on the edge of his neighborhood when he was twelve. The rumor was that the bolts holding the girders together were the wrong kind of metal. If you put two pieces of metal together in a special environment, and their elemental makeup was in opposition, or their inherent earth spirits or whatever, they would fight and destroy each other. This was apparently a well known problem, one that had been solved since forever, and only came up in cases of sheer ignorance or willful incompetence. Like, for example, saving a quarter wen per bolt over the right type of metal due to market prices at the time of construction.

That was the rumor, anyhow. It sounded made up, but he kind of believed it. He didn’t have any evidence, but it really sounded like something a builder would do on orders from corporate to bring prices down.

Not here. Here, someone found the builders and asked ‘If budget was no issue, and you were building in these conditions, what’s the very best you could do?” Then the absolute maniacs built it. He turned the corner of the stairs, and went down to the next floor. Still nothing terrible. Slow and steady, slow and steady. He kept glancing back, wanting to make sure nothing had popped out between him and the door. The sea roared and thundered in the stairwell, the concrete bouncing the sound around. Tossing him on the invisible waves.

He turned another corner. He should be down almost two stories now, but there hadn’t been any doors. Was it all solid up top? The lights were out, but that was no problem. As he got a little further in, he saw a small cluster of indoor flood lights, aimed away from the stairs. Aimed at the wall the stairs ended at.

No door. Just a smooth concrete wall. Neatly carved into the concrete, a meter tall and three centimeters deep were two words- “Get Fucked.”

Ah. Yes. Now that was the Starbrite he knew. A smoker’s door, out of the way? Comparatively easily bypassed lock and a very safe staircase that only became dangerous once you closed the door behind you? Mmm. Felt just like coming home. Awful, but familiar.

He carefully ran his fingers over the stairs and along the walls. Nothing. He started tapping the wall, putting just a touch of muscle in it. It took a little while, but he found a spot that sounded ever-so-slightly different. Not even hollow, just different. He carefully excavated around it.

Ah. Shockwave, Bone-Eating Fire, AND Stone-Like Water charms. All carefully sealed for long term preservation. A custom explosive package. I feel unworthy. Though what the hell is going on over here? This case is a full-blown talisman, and I barely recognize half of it. Some kind of… linkage to a control gem? But it looks pretty damn complicated for that.

He kept checking the wall as he worked his way up the stairs. All in all, he collected twenty of the hidden charges. Working around the doorframe, he found an arming switch. He was sure there was more to the trap he wasn’t seeing. Still, he could understand how it would go. Sneaky infiltration team comes in through the “security hole” on the roof, carefully closes up behind them, finds nothing wrong as they descend, and when they reach the bottom, the whole stairwell turns into a kill-zone. Not much, if anything, would survive all those charms going off in a concentrated area like that, and anything that did survive would be easy meat for the defenders inside.

Nasty. They must have built the whole thing around that strategy. No wonder nothing looked wrong- it was all installed during the construction.

Was he… thinking about this all wrong? He had some pretty effective tricks for breaking in, but Incisive just wasn't going to cut it here. They were already on the look out for reality manipulation. It was kind of their thing.

Should he just smash straight in? They would be ready for that too. That would be Plan A for any power capable of finding this place. “Infiltration Team” was a distant Plan B, used only if no real powerhouses were available. The rooftop stairwell was basically a little prank, compared to everything else.

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Try to destroy the reality distortion field? Yes, but also no. Yes, because he didn’t trust it one bit. No, because it would force Starbrite’s hand, and nobody was ready to deal with him directly at a moment’s notice. Or, quite possibly, deal with him at all. This was an assassination mission, not a group jumping.

“Come outside. We just want to talk. I just want to talk with you. Why are you hiding?” Truth muttered.

I’m not hiding. And why would I leave my nest?

Never mind, never mind.

It was maddening. He was here. He was literally in the base. He had found what an entire planet of motivated spooks and detectives couldn’t. And he was stuck on the roof.

Go in through the metal shutter door on the water? Nah. He’d bet money the thing went four meters down into the bedrock. Or something. The point is, it wouldn’t be any more stealthy.

He dithered for a while. Ultimately, he decided to eat a can of peaches in syrup. The view was amazing. All the wheeling sea birds, the orange haze from the volcanic ash in the sky, the dark sea, it was all amazing. All beautiful.

It’s not a bad world. Not really. It's just the people living in it. Living as we were made to. Our creator refusing to look at his creation. Bored to tears by it. How could they not be? It all was running along the miserable channels they laid out in the beginning. What was there to even see?

Hell with it. Being smart never seemed to pay off. Violence. Brutal and direct thuggery. That was a career with a future. Who would be a talisman maintenance tech? Was that even going to be a thing this time next year? Slapping punks and taking their food was forever. There was even a route for upward mobility for the gangster-minded.

He laughed softly and dropped down to the dock once more. He gently tapped the door, trying to figure out where the bolts were. He lined up the Tongue, and since there was no alert, punched it straight through the steel door. Once, twice, a third time, then a soft pull on the handle. There was a little waiting room, with coat hooks and a security check in desk. Currently unstaffed, but the brutal metal golems that filled most of the hall probably did just as well.

Truth forced himself not to giggle. The golems were brilliantly shiny. They must have been built stainless. Rust proof metal monsters, guarding a sea base.

The doorway was covered in alarm talismans, watched by recording talismans, and papered with charms. All of which seemed only partially operational. He was able to slip past them. He took a closer look at the charms, and noticed the paper was corroding. It happened with charms- you needed special paper and ink infused with special minerals and herbs. Some charms required blood or other, less savory, fluids. They were intended to be single use, and you generally couldn’t leave them out in the open for months at a time.

The door situation might be as simple as age and a lack of maintenance. A secret base wouldn’t stay secret very long if there were constant resupply missions to it.

Truth lightly hopped and stabbed his fingers into the ceiling. It took a little coordination, but no particular effort, to hold his body parallel to the ceiling as he crawled forward, stabbing his fingers in as he went. The golems had their eyes fixed straight ahead, not seeing him. That suited Truth just fine. The bastards were almost unkillable so long as they had access to magic.

It took time, but that was alright. This was an oddly familiar place for him. Creeping unseen over deadly enemies. Making use of his body in a way most couldn’t dream of. He didn’t even drop from the ceiling once he got past the golems. He just kept right on going, past the security desk, around the corner, and then paused to admire the armored bulk of a Heavy Needler anti-aircraft battery, aimed straight down the hall. Rigged for both manual use and spirit possession, he noticed. That cost more than a credit.

He kept going. No spirits here- there was a soldier of the PMC sitting on a folding chair behind the battery, reading a magazine. The magazine looked worn almost to nothing, but he appeared to be reading it carefully.

Truth would have cultivated. Once you reach that tier of boredom? Cultivate. That’s what he did when he had Standing Around duty. This guy even got a chair!

Onward. The hall ended ten meters past the AA battery. A double door, made of heavy metal and, Truth noticed with some amusement, clearly intended to be a fire door in a school or hospital. It had a lock built in, but it wasn’t locked. Once you were through the reality distortion field, past the sealed door, admitted by the golems and permitted by the PMC, you were welcome. Conditionally. With adequate supervision. Recording talismans still observed every centimeter of the interior.

The interior itself was… odd. It reminded him of the volcano base- sealed concrete and unmarked doors. What was different were the motivational slogans painted on the walls.

“Glory To Starbrite! Glory To The World To Come!”

“Shining Eternal- Starbrite!”

“For Your Better Tomorrow, Starbrite!”

“Honor. Duty. Loyalty. Starbrite.”

“Climb The Starbrite Ladder, Ascend To The Heavens!”

Over and over and over. They were eye-roll material, but he knew who was in this base- the deathsworn of the PMC, and those who might as well be. None of them were capable of rebellion. If Sally was right, they were all just crummy copies of parts of Starbrite’s personality. Soul mutilated into becoming their tormentor. There were only two people actually here. Lots of bodies, only two people. Truth, and Starbrite.

With no better ideas, he started opening the doors. The security arrangement was exactly the same as the volcano lair, with a two-part permitting and authentication system. He had already reached the point where he could open it in seconds.

It was, oddly, all going too smoothly. Even with all the defenses, it felt too smooth. Like he was walking down the stairwell, and hadn’t seen the wall yet.

Office. Office. Supply closet. Janitor’s closet. Office. Guest bedroom. Guest bedroom. Office. Meeting room.

Harmony.

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