The Eye of the Bedlam Bride — Chapter no 21

[ 21 ]

th <Note added by Crawler Herot, 16Edition> I do wonder, sometimes, how my worn path method will work on the deeper floors with the longer timelines. Tea that steeps too long tends to take on an unexpected flavor.

ENTERING PRODUCTION FACILITY.

We skipped right past the normal gnoll security check, which was surprising. We went right to the production facility building at the bottom of the ocean. For the first time, we weren’t inverted sideways when we arrived.

My hud flickered and snapped off the moment I appeared.

We were in the same room I’d been in when I’d come for CrawlCon. My eyes caught the spot on the wall where my souped-up training studio had been. It was just a blank wall now.

Donut looked up at me. “So, Mordecai is being a babysitter? I’m still confused. Why did that turn him to a drag queen?”

“He’s playing with them, Donut,” I said. “They’re little kids. He’s letting them put makeup on him.”

“Why didn’t he tell us? It’s not like you would’ve said no. You never say no to that sort of… Hi Zev!”

Zev popped into the room, appearing atop the table.

Donut jumped up to headbutt the small kua-tin, but her head went right through her. “Hey!”

“Hi, Princess. Sorry, guys,” Zev said. “I’m so busy, I don’t have time to hop over there. We have literally thousands of ships coming into Earth orbit, all arriving early because of Prepotente’s stunt. It’s a bureaucratic nightmare.

Half of these ships will fire on another if they’re parked within 1,000 kilometers, and the Valtay insist on manual routing. Plus, do you know how much it costs to use a tunnel transfer gate without a reservation? The Plenty are collecting their chest of stardust, that’s for sure. I have to be in a meeting in a few minutes when you’re at yours, so we only have a minute to talk.”

She looked down at her tablet. “Gods, I don’t even know what that meeting is for.”

“Did you know Mordecai was stealing from us?” Donut asked.

Zev grunted. “Actually, yes, though I wouldn’t call it stealing out loud too much. He can get charged for that should you pursue it. That little story is compelling enough that we’ve been attempting to talk the AI into bending its rules to allow viewers to watch him and these specific NPCs. Especially considering Mordecai’s backstory and with Huanxin back in the game. Him risking charges to save children NPCs is prime drama. Plus, he’s just adorable with them. Who would’ve thought? The AI doesn’t seem interested in helping us, so we’ve licensed the story to Titan, who’s preparing a vid on it with virtual characters.”

“So, it’s like a Lifetime movie? About Mordecai?” Donut asked. “Am I in it?”

“They didn’t want to pay the extra licensing fee,” Zev said. “But Mongo is in it.”

Donut gasped. “My Mongo is a movie star? He’s going to be so excited!”

“Is it, uh, safe to be asking the AI to do stuff?” I asked.

“Asking, yes. It seems to enjoy it. Demanding? That’s something we’re still working on.”

“So, what did you want to talk to us about?” I asked.

“Hang on,” Zev said. She clicked something on her tablet. The lights in the room blinked twice. “Okay. I’ve turned on extra security for this conversation. This is an official secure conversation between an administrator and a show sponsor. As of this moment, both of you are acting in your capacity as a sponsor. Because of this, the rules are a little different than it is for the regular crawl. I am the only person in on this conversation other than the system AI. Okay?”

“Ooh, it feels very top secret and hush-hush,” Donut said.

“That’s because it is. Okay, listen. Odette is going to ask to be your adjutant during Faction Wars. I want you to know what that is before you decide. It’s your choice, but I think it’s a bad idea.”

I knew this was coming, though I was surprised that she was advising against it. “What’s an adjutant and why is it a bad idea?”

“An adjutant is a neutral third-party observer. Each team gets one. They will have access to the rules and will have open communications with the other adjutants. They fall somewhere between a manager and a liaison.

They’re like referees. They have limited ability to call out rule-breaking behavior, though traditionally their participation is widely symbolic. They’re usually someone loud and flashy and famous who gives color commentary for the viewers. Someone like Odette. She’s done it a few times.”

“She’ll be physically on the surface with us?”

“Yes,” Zev said.

“What if I manage to get the protections turned off? Will she still want to do it?”

“Carl, it’s highly unlikely you’ll pull that off. And even if you do, I’m pretty sure there’s a rule hidden in there somewhere that the adjutants will have a constant invulnerability spell upon them.”

“Okay, so why do you think it’s a bad idea?”

Zev sighed. “As you’re aware, Odette has history with Mordecai. She was his manager a long time ago. And Mordecai dislikes her quite a bit. I’m not going into that, but you remember what happened when Mordecai met Chaco during the prize carousel segment? He threw a chair at his head and got himself put in a timeout. If you get them physically together, he will attack her. He will get kicked out. You’ll lose him. His contract will be in jeopardy.

Half of those kids he’s fostering will immediately get ejected because your personal space will change. Odette is a big fan of… drama. Having her involved wouldn’t be healthy for anybody. She’s great in a talk show environment, but in this context, you don’t want her around.”

I thought about it for a moment. We had to pick Odette. We didn’t have a choice. I would need an excuse that seemed plausible to completely ignore Zev’s advice. Luckily, we still had a few days.

“Who does she usually do this for?” I asked.

Zev shrugged. “Last time it was the Dreadnoughts. Or was it the Reavers?

I can’t remember. It’s someone different each time.”

“This doesn’t seem like an official stance,” I said. “I’d think the Valtay

showrunners would be falling over themselves for this kind of story to play out.”

“It’s not official,” Zev said. “This is me talking, trying to give your team advice. Also, the Valtay have taken a step back after the Prepotente incident and are distancing themselves from the production’s day-to-day. They need investor confidence for the next crawl, which they’re also running. That seventh floor was Cascadia’s baby, but they pushed to make it happen, and when it got ruined, they had themselves what you humans call a come to Jesus moment. A big one, especially after how the sixth floor ended. Still, despite all that, there’s still money being made. You two are earning. A lot more than usual, but it’s at the expense of several of the sponsors, which is unusual. The Borant Corporation is going to be liquified after the crawl no matter what. If the Valtay step back, they can point to the bottom line and show how profitable they were, and at the same time, they can point to us at Borant and say, hey, we made this profit despite how terribly the mudskippers

ran this season. Does that make sense?”

“Not even a little bit,” I said.

“Just don’t pick Odette, okay?” Zev said. “I like Mordecai, and it would hurt him if you picked her.”

“What’ll happen to you if they shut down your company?” Donut asked.

The tiny woman shrugged. “That depends on what’s going on back home.”

Donut sighed dramatically. “Denying her request will break Odette’s heart, I’m sure, but if I’m going to be a Hollywood mother, I need to learn to

make tough decisions, I suppose.”

I said nothing.

“Good. And Odette won’t be that upset. Her heart is made of ice, and she’s used to rejection. Now you two gotta go in there. Try not to piss off my boss too much.”

“Your boss?” I asked, brightening. “Your boss will be at the meeting

today?”

Zev just sighed.

“You two represent the third team, so you will sit here,” the disc-shaped Mexx robot said, indicating two chairs at the large, round table. The robot’s

name was U56KL, and Donut was calling him “Urkel.”

None of the other chairs were currently occupied, at least as far as we could see. There were ten sections total. All the other spots contained a single chair of varying sizes. Or no chair.

“Are we the only warlords who are coming today?” I asked. Zev had said earlier that these meetings were usually attended by underlings, which was why I hadn’t been too excited about being here. Donut was pissed that it wasn’t being filmed and broadcast. She hadn’t yet observed that the promised catering hadn’t appeared yet, either. I was hoping it would remain unnoticed.

“I am unaware of the guest list for this meeting,” Urkel the robot said.

“Normally, the other on-boarded attendants meet in a boardroom located in Larracos, but that meeting space is currently unavailable, so all of them will be attending from different locations today. I believe most are in their respective castles.”

“Unavailable?” Donut asked. “Does that mean it’s still underwater?”

“Yes. It does,” Urkel said. “Please standby. The meeting will begin in thirty seconds.”

“Why can they do this from their bases, but we have to come here?” I asked.

“Because they’re richer than you are,” Urkel said.

“Do you think they’re going to be mean to us?” Donut asked as she took her spot upon the raised chair to my left. “I feel as if they’re going to be mean. Or do you think they’re going to do that thing where they’re super

polite, but you can tell they hate us?”

I grunted. “We’re about to find out.”

“Just remember the plan, Carl. I do most of the talking. I’m the negotiator, and you just sit there and look all Carl-y.”

A figure flickered and appeared in spot 10 at the table. It was a tiny kua- tin I hadn’t met before, sitting tightly in a small chair. She had long, droopy whiskers, giving her an almost catfish appearance. Zev didn’t have those, which indicated maybe she was a different kind. Her scales had a dull sheen to them, and I knew from Zev that she was older, but not as old as her appearance suggested. The act of running the crawl had aged her greatly. She

looked exhausted.

Cascadia. The kill, kill, kill lady.

“Hi, Zev’s boss!” Donut said.

“Princess Donut, hello. Carl, hello,” Cascadia said. Her voice was clipped

and tense. “I trust Zev has caught you up on what this meeting will entail?”

I shrugged.

“Good,” she said. “Even though you’re currently sitting as a sponsor, I will not tolerate any of your usual bullshit, Carl. There will be consequences for any attempts to derail this meeting. They’ve been getting disrupted without your help, and I don’t need you adding to the chaos. I am on a tight schedule and am one crisis shy of pulling the failsafe, which would kill us all.

So don’t test me, especially not today.”

“Carl,” Donut said. “Do you remember Loita? She reminds me of Loita.

Do you remember when she accidentally blew herself up? Why is it all of these people are always so high strung? Honestly, they’re like chihuahuas.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said.

“She’s so tired-looking. Can fish use moisturizer?” Donut turned to the glaring fish. “I feel as if you should try it. It would do wonders. Or you can use cucumber slices, though your eyes might be a little too buggy for that.

And they’d be really big on you. Or maybe you can try hot yoga. I heard that’s relaxing. Your body is a temple, Zev’s boss. You need to take care of

yourself.”

The fish woman just looked at us.

“I agree, Donut,” I said, glaring back. “I do hope you look after yourself much more carefully than Loita did, Cascadia.”

Cascadia blinked and disappeared. A moment passed and then she reappeared in the same spot with a pop, splashing water all over the table. A rebreather appeared around her gills.

“I’m really here now, Carl,” Cascadia said. She raised her little arms. I could tell she was on the edge of a breakdown. “You want to hurt me? Now’s your chance.” She leaned forward. “Try it. There are no protections. You’d be able to squash me easily. I fucking dare you. It would be the end of the both of us. I would godsdamned welcome it.”

By this point, it took a lot to surprise me. I was moderately impressed at the display, though I didn’t want to show it. I felt my hand clench. I had to clench and unclench several times to keep from taking her up on her offer. I felt my gauntlet start to form, and I quickly let it go.

Quiet, I thought as I continued my staring contest with the woman. Quiet, quiet. Don’t be so loud.

“Whew,” Donut said, waving her paw in front of her nose. “Not just moisturizer. A bath. Do fish take baths? Carl, she smells really bad. Nothing

like Zev. It’s like that expired cat food you got me from the swap meet that one time.”

“I never did that, Donut,” I said, keeping my eyes on Cascadia. “You’re thinking of the whitefish and spinach flavor of your regular food, which you never liked.”

“Well, it smelled like it was expired and came from the swap meet.”

Before I could respond, the room blinked again, and then all the spaces at the table were suddenly occupied. Cascadia kept my eyes for several moments longer before planting what I recognized as a big, fake smile on her kua-tin face. She turned to the group and took on her usual, over-the-top, condescending voice. The change in her was instantaneous and unnerving.

I looked about the room, a mix of familiar and new aliens. Nobody had labels over them.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome all. This is our, what is it? Our fifth preproduction meeting? It seems just like yesterday I was welcoming you all here. We have some new faces I see, so the rules dictate we must do a new round of introductions before we start.” Cascadia’s fish eyes twitched, looking about the room, surprise evident. “Oh, I didn’t realize so many warlords were going to be attending today.”

“Hi Princess… I mean Empress D’Nadia!” Donut called, waving at the familiar Saccathian sitting two spots to our left in space number five. The last time I’d seen her was at the very end of the Butcher’s Masquerade.

“Hi Donut!” the Empress said. “That was quite the performance the other night. I really liked your song. I’m sorry they kicked us out before the festivities really started.”

Donut preened. “You did? Oh thank you so very much! I do have to ask you, Empress, about the voting on the pet show. Is it true that the ballot box was rigged? I heard that…”

Cascadia held up a hand. “We don’t have time for pleasantries. Today’s meeting will be short. I ask that each of you introduce yourselves in order, and then we will get to business.” She nodded her head toward the familiar, angry orc sitting immediately to her left in spot one.

The only time I’d ever seen Crown Prince Stalwart, the Maestro’s older brother, was during the short video where he’d—wrongly—declared that he’d assassinated me and Donut. He’d instead accidentally killed Manasa the singer.

“I don’t announce myself,” the angry orc said.

At the second spot right next to me was no chair. Just a green blob, one of the biggest of these things I’d seen. It was an opaque, quivering mass of green goo, shaped into three tiers of decreasing size, like a Jell-o mold from the 1970’s. This was a rep from the Operatic Collective. Or maybe it was their king. I had no idea because they all looked the same, and the only difference I could see was the size. They bred by literally splitting apart, and I knew they could merge back into one another, which was really fucking weird. Their mouths were at the very top, and they spoke upward into the air.

“I am Voting Admin Cell Mass Number three,” the blob said. Little bubbles gurgled out of the top of him when he spoke.

“What happened to Hortense?” Empress D’Nadia asked.

“Hortense is in here,” the blob thing said. “There are three of us in this entity, and we make up Voting Admin Cell Mass Number Three.”

“Wait,” Donut asked. “What are we supposed to call you?”

“You’re supposed to call me Voting Admin Cell Mass Number Three,” the thing said.

“That’s just silly,” Donut said. “That’s much too long of a name. I’m going to call you, I don’t know, Green Jiggly.” Donut paused then straightened. “Oh, it’s our turn?” She cleared her throat. “Well, I am GC, BWR, NW, Princess Donut the Queen Anne Chonk, and with me is my co- warlord, Carl. We represent the Princess Posse, a non-profit conglomerate with tens of thousands of chapters of intelligent, like-minded, beautiful fans from…”

“This is ridiculous,” Prince Stalwart said, interrupting. “We know who you are, you fucking imbecile.”

I was about to say something, but Donut put a calming paw on my arm.

“Oh, honey. I know you know who I am. We did humiliate you and your brother more times than I can count. Your mother never got the chance to meet me, though, did she? Is she here? I’d be happy to sign an autograph for her… oh wait.”

There was a long moment of shocked silence while Donut swished her tail.

“I am going to take my ceremonial knife, insert it into your gut and skin you alive while you scream in pain. I will then use your pelt to line the interior of my codpiece,” Prince Stalwart growled. “Your fur will spend the next thousand years warming my enormous genitals.”

“Wow,” Donut said. “That’s an oddly specific threat. And ‘enormous’?

Really? Nobody was questioning the size of your genitals, so it’s really weird you would just randomly bring it up. Carl, did you hear that? Do you think he thought that one up before he got up here, or do you think it just kind of popped out? I’m like 90% certain he had that one ready to go.” She gasped.

“Do you think he was sitting there, waiting for the meeting to start, saying to himself, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go with the codpiece line? I propose a new action item. We are changing the name of Crown Prince Stalwart to Captain Enormous.”

Empress D’Nadia trumpeted with laughter. A hairy goblin guy a few spots over also laughed.

The mexx robot dinged. “Action item added to the queue. Action item has been rejected by the system. Titles may not be changed.”

“Oh, poo,” Donut said. She turned to the large, green and purple Naga parked immediately to her left. He had four arms and no legs, just a long, snake body that sat coiled on the ground. He wore dented plate armor upon his chest, but his head and arms were bare. “Oh well. I guess it’s your turn.

Hey, aren’t we cousins now or something? Not by blood, obviously. But because of that tiara?”

The naga’s dark, snake eyes bored into Donut. “We are not cousins,” he said, though I could see he was suppressing a grin. He instantly reminded me of Nihit, the reporter naga I’d stabbed in the neck with a pen. “We are not cousins,” he clarified, “in or out of the game. I am but a representative of the Blood Sultanate, not a member of the royal family.” He bowed. “I suppose, in a way, you are cousins with the family, and that includes my wife. I am called Rishi.”

This was the team we would have to kill first. Winning Faction Wars was optional. Destroying the nagas was not.

“Does that mean when I kill the royal family and take it over, you’ll work for me?” Donut asked.

The grin didn’t leave his face. “Yes, if I am still alive. I will be honor- bound to follow you. Or your companion, Katia.”

That one stung. Next to me, Donut tensed.

I had an uneasy feeling about this guy. I committed his name to my memory. Rishi.

“Donut, if you would refrain from commenting on each introduction, we could get through this much more quickly,” Cascadia said, sounding exasperated.

“Hello, everybody,” Empress D’Nadia said from her spot at number five.

“I’m Empress D’Nadia, warlord of the Prism Kingdom Clan. I just onboarded onto the playing field, so if anyone wants to catch a meal, I’m available. I understand a few restaurants in Larracos have finally opened back up.”

“Not advisable,” Rishi said, but didn’t elaborate further.

“I am Epitome Tagg of the Dream,” the bald elf said from the sixth spot.

He didn’t add anything else.

I blinked, surprised.

“Hey, you’re the guy who hates Louis because he thinks your mom is sexy!” Donut exclaimed. “Carl, it’s the guy who hates Louis!”

“Princess Donut, please,” Cascadia said.

“Sorry, sorry,” Donut said.

The older, regal-looking elf appeared bored. He didn’t react to Donut’s outburst. He looked nothing like the unhinged psychopath he was portrayed to be. He wore a simple, leather jerkin and was indistinguishable from the rest of the dream elves we’d slaughtered on the previous floor. This was one of the richest men in the entire galaxy. The dream elves controlled food- growing operations in numerous solar systems and owned the patent on multiple types of food. Supposedly, if you lived in certain areas, your body wouldn’t let you digest their food unless you had a license for it.

In spot number seven was a green, humanoid creature. A representative from the Lemig Sortion. This was the guy who’d laughed at Donut’s joke about Prince Stalwart. He looked like a cross between a goblin and a nullian alien, like Quasar. The Lemig Sortion was a truly democratic government system consisting of multiple races, though most of them were these green guys. I couldn’t remember what the race was called, but I knew their leader was actually a different type of alien, a fuzzy caterpillar-looking thing. I still had a photo of the leader’s mother. The population of the Lemig Sortion as a whole voted on everything, supposedly. Though once something was set, it required an 80% vote to undo it. They’d voted to participate in Faction Wars a long time ago, and it’d been impossible to undo that vote, even though the population had soured on the high congress’s participation each season.

Mordecai said their system was in a constant state of disarray.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” the alien said. His voice was surprising, sounding like a surfer dude.

In spot number eight was another humanoid alien with a bulky body and a long, thin, bone-white neck and a blank, white mask covering his face, like

something out of a creepy anime. I instantly knew what this was, though I’d never seen one. A viceroy. They were one of the constants of Faction Wars, oftentimes winners of the conflict, though they supposedly hadn’t won in a while. Their race was somewhat of a mystery. They specialized in horrific battlefield spells and necromancy. In real life, their system was known as a destination for cheap medical procedures for non-citizens and those who lived outside the inner system, who had access to free healthcare.

Their team was called the Madness.

The viceroy didn’t say anything. Just raised his hand in greeting. Donut waved back.

“And I am Warlord Fangs of the Reavers,” the final representative said with a robotic voice.

The Reavers were an occasional player and usually did well when they did participate, having taken the prize multiple seasons. Mordecai said they oftentimes allied with the orcs, easily taking out the other teams. They would then square off against each other for the trophy, though supposedly there was some sort of early betrayal the previous season, and a partnership was unlikely this year.

The rep was a square-headed, old-school robot that vibrated up and down like he was powered by a diesel engine. The thing looked like he’d come straight from a 60’s scifi movie. I knew from the cookbook and the photo of the leader’s mother that this appearance was for my benefit. These guys were more like the robots from Terminator 2, in that they could switch shape at will. They normally looked like plastic-skinned, android soothers. I’d seen them quite a bit in the audience at various talk shows. The Reavers were a megacorporation and system government. They mostly lived on something earth scientists called a Dyson Sphere, a star completely surrounded by a structure. These guys supposedly were once related to the Nebulars, the religious nuts who’d sent a team called “The Nebular Sin Patrol,” to die as hunters on the sixth floor.

Like the nebs, they were originally several different biological races who enhanced themselves with machines, though these guys took it a step further and kept only their brains. So they looked like robots.

“Warlord Fangs? Really?” Donut asked. “Is your name really Fangs? Are you a robot vampire?” She gasped. “Or are you a werewolf robot? Now that would be something.”

“Donut,” Cascadia snapped. “If I have to warn you again…”

Before she finished her admonishment, the silent, faceless viceroy to the robot’s right dropped forward on the table. His head rolled away from the body like a billiard ball. The blank, white mask came loose, revealing a bone- white, demonic, tusked alien face covered in streaks of red. We all just stared dumbly at the now-decapitated representative from the Madness. Bright, red blood showered from the neck hole, spurting like a hose. I remembered a question from the cookbook, wondering if these viceroy guys were biological because nobody had seen one die before.

“Carl,” Donut asked. “Is his head supposed to just fall off like that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Not again,” Cascadia said.

Prince Stalwart raged, slamming his fist on the table. “You idiots can’t do anything right. Tagg, you said you took care of this.”

A new form appeared behind the viceroy, pushing the headless body away and sitting in his chair. The blood remained pooling on the table, disappearing as it reached the edge of the illusion. The newcomer reached forward, plucked the white mask up and started twirling it on her finger. She leaned back and put her two feet up on the table.

“Hello again, boys,” she said.

The newcomer was a familiar dream elf. It was Epitome Noflex, Epitome Tagg’s mother. The beautiful, bald elf whose photo caused all the issues with Louis.

“You,” Epitome Tagg shouted, jumping to his feet, finally showing emotion. “My men told me they found you and killed you.”

“Obviously not,” the woman said. “I heard you guys were having a meeting. I figured I should be in on it. Don’t worry about ol’ faceless here.

He regenerates at sunset, isn’t that right? At least until the games begin.”

“This is unacceptable,” Tagg shouted. He’d gone from calm to red hot in an instant. He pointed at me. “Your team isn’t allowed to kill until the games start. I am filing another appeal.”

“Don’t look at us, buddy. She’s not on our team,” I said.

“Cascadia,” Tagg said, turning his ire onto the tired-looking fish. “How about now? Will you intervene now?”

“The rules haven’t changed. She’s an NPC,” Cascadia said. “The AI won’t let us touch this. You said you’d taken care of it.”

“They’re becoming self-aware. All of them,” Tagg said. “It’s going to be impossible for anybody to win.”

“I have a whole list of problems I must deal with, warlord, but that, thank the gods, is not one of them,” Cascadia said. “Carl is correct. She’s not on his team, not officially at least, so she’s allowed to do what she wants. You’re

free to kill her.”

“Gotta catch me first,” the woman said.

“We shoulda bugged out when the mantids did,” surfer dude Luke from the Lemig Sortion said. He shook his goblin-like head. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to himself or the group. “Shoulda known. They left the second we filed that second appeal. We all gonna die here. Every last one of us.”

Donut was staring open-mouthed at the form of Epitome Noflex. “Carl, it’s his mother! Why is his mother an NPC?”

“That’s not his mother, Donut.”

I turned to the woman grinning at me.

“Hello, Juice Box. I see you’ve been busy.”