All Roads Lead to the Brighton Manor

11:18AM
Springfield

The neighborhood swept by as Tricia looked out from the front passenger seat of her car. In the driver’s seat, the hologram of a middle-aged man modeled after her stepfather calmly pretended to be the **** turning the steering wheel of the white, automated Passat as they entered Newman’s block.

It had been an awkward plan from the start. Kazex and Greenpaw were **** to endure the trunk of the vehicle, for their inhumanity was too apparent to risk exposure. Alysha sat calmly in the backseat as holograms were projected to make her appear human; she made for a convincingly bitter, blonde pregnant woman, though Tricia could not fathom why those hair and skin colors seemed to upset the elf so. Fairy, being the perfect stature for a young girl, was also coated in holograms to make her appear as a happy, redheaded child in a frilly pink dress. She, thankfully, seemed too worried about John to be annoyed. Tricia, all the while, had to hide in her skintight suit and pray no one questioned the slight lump on her forehead or the plain black dress of crinkling carbon she wore.

In short: no one, save the hologram of Jacob, was happy.

A long, black Cadillac swung from John’s street to travel in the opposite direction as Tricia’s Passat, and there was no confusing that Order design, from the illegally dark tinting of the windows to the chassis Tricia had seen on multiple missions, for anything else. “They're already here,” she calmly reported, doing her best to appear nonchalant. Alysha’s eyes moved without her head to lock onto the car; Fairy was far less subtle and nearly stood on her seat to stare at them through the Passat’s own tinting. “Get down!” Tricia hissed without turning.

“Like Hell! What if they come back for-” Fairy peered through the dual layers of tinting... and saw in the backseat, flanking the woman in white robes in the middle, the **** forms of Brenda Newman and Lily. They're alive. “They have ‘em!”

“Both of them?” the blonde asked.

“Yes, both, you twat-”

Tricia sighed her relief. “The probability that they’d be taken back instead of exterminated or left memory wiped was exceedingly low...” ... but the speed with which they arrived, neutralized the targets, and left... it serves the hypothesis that the Order did not move against John in a sudden, heated reaction. Did Moira orchestrate this, or did her father? “How long they’ll be kept alive, however, is completely unknowable-”

“Follow them!” Fairy hollered.

The black sedan was quickly shrinking in the mirrors. Can we really take them on out in the open? They’d call reinforcements... the police, if they had to... furthermore, they’re in high alert, so their response times will be significantly more efficient. As knights, they’re likely escorted by an Order mage, perhaps even a contracted mage of unknown discipline. Their weapons-

“Turn us around, you dull cunt!”

“No,” Tricia concluded, “we have... a minimal chance of surviving an encounter, and they have hostages. We can tail them... but from afar-” Tricia’s words were cut off as the car readied to make a U-turn at the intersection... and as it did so, Tricia caught sight of the second sedan leaving the Newman parking space. The Passat finished its turn to follow the first Cadillac... and the second made its left onto the same road, accidentally tailing the Gorbachev and her motley crew. Two units?! Of course... they don’t know John enough to know if his home was warded or trapped or guarded by other mages, unlikely as that is.

“More of them,” Alysha whispered.

“I know... we’ll break off for now.”

“Quitting? What, to some unwashed virgins in clunky cars? They have who we need.”

“I'm not quitting," Tricia shot back, "but we’ll need to follow them another way.” The Passat turned into another road, breaking off from the Cadillacs’ route and letting the latter roar off... and, as the white sedan slowed, a single observation drone spat out from its faux, enlarged exhaust pipe to then shoot up into the air. A projector drone showed Fairy the same camera feed Tricia watched on her invisible HUD. As expected, the first Cadillac was quickly joined by the second. “We’ll see where they’re going and ambush them from there.”

“Better idea," Fairy offered, "we cut off the one we need, I’ll open a barrier on it, and we kill them all before driving off with the ladies.”

“We were all deprived our weapons before being deposited for this woman's pleasure,” Alysha tersely interjected via her translator, “and remain so unarmed. More, you're presuming the other enemies will not interrupt such a plan.”

“She’s right,” Tricia added, “and many more would come besides... all while we’re putting **** hostages at risk. We won’t do it. We’ll just watch them, and follow.”

Fairy ceased her grumbling, and the Passat was soon in the road again as the drone soared.

The Passat very carefully followed traffic while the Cadillacs, no doubt by some programmed signals registered in their cars, managed to bypass every red light and stop that raised to meet them. Fairy groaned her frustration as the "chase" lurched on and the feed showed just how far the knights were getting with their hostages. "It won't matter to see where they go if we take the whole of the century to get there, now will it?!"

"We're only a few minutes apart- ah," Tricia whispered as the second car broke off from its escort, "where are they going?"

"Perhaps they've spotted us," the pregnant elf offered as she leaned over Fairy, "and are coming around to drive us off. A sound plan."

With a command, a second drone quietly spurted out of the car and zipped between the vehicles waiting on the latest red light, taking to the air only once it had verified little to no notice by observable human eyes. "I'll track that car separately. The one with Brenda and Lily is our primary objective- oh no..." Tricia watched the sedan continue on past the main road... and her choker quickly analyzed the possible routes based on the neighborhood road it had taken. With few exceptions, the Brighton Estate proper seemed its target. I had hoped for some holding facility, or a safehouse, or something... anything else. Why risk bringing a civilian there? What are they planning to do...? "We..." Tricia contemplated her options... but by the time they could get to the Brighton Estate, even risking authority attention with reckless driving, the Order car would already be well within the range of Brighton's protection. Why... why bring them to the Estate...? "Bargaining power," Tricia whispered.

"What now? What's going on?" Fairy urged.

Tricia shook her head. Then... that would mean he's alive, but... would the Order do something-?

INCOMING CALL FROM: PAPA

Tricia's eyes grew wider and wider as she read the message. Her third Eye cycled twice as she tried to come to grips with the call. Now?! Why now?! Tricia all but knew why. "G-Give me a minute," Tricia hastily ordered the monsters.

ANSWER: BCI VOICE ONLY

Good morning, Papa.

His voice vibrated in her bones. "Ah, good morning, my little chistotel. You are at school, yes?"

Despite how worried she was about the call's premise, she still managed a smile at her adoptive father's heavy accent. How he managed it while still being the American operative for the Opekuny always seemed curious to her... but now she had to tread carefully. "Ah... actually, I've been out of school for a bit..." Tricia fished for any reason but could conjure none except her "medical excuse"... which would necessitate revealing that she had been hiding her new Eyes until she was fully informed of their influences and powers. "I-I'm sorry, Papa..."

"Ah... of course, of course. You never had to face such evils before... you should take time off, actually, more time too." It took Tricia the seconds of his speech for her to realize he was referring to the Zenith Smugglers; it had seemed an age ago after all the beautiful and terrifying chaos John had brought into her life. "Rest, relax... and remember you're in Springfield: safest city in America with the Order there! Ah... yes, they told me about your little friend... John Newman. You have... heard, I hope?"

Tricia wasn't even sure how to respond.

"Hey, blondie, it's been a figurative minute and we don't have a literal-" Fairy began. A tinted divider shot up and split the front of the cab from the back, earning some string of unearthly cursing from the child on board.

Thankfully, BCI mode didn't engage her choker's microphone. I have not, Father... though he has recently seemed... distant. Is everything alright?

"He... I don't know if you were friends, but he has been branded a rogue mage. He... ah, but you don't need to hear these ugly things." The hologram of the man on the phone continued to drive... and Tricia's heart sank as she watched the black Cadillac roll through the Brighton gates. "I was thinking I would visit today. I'm only a few jumps away... wouldn't take longer than a few hours-"

N-No, that's... that's alright. Please. I'd just like some time... alone. An awkward silence. I... appreciate that though, Papa. Perhaps... this weekend?

"... Ah, alright," he cheerfully replied, "this weekend then. Stay healthy until then, my chistotel."

I will. Thank you, Papa; I love you. Tricia stiffened as it slipped from her... but it was earnest enough, that parental love for the only real father on this half of her life. Her eyes began to sting; she loved him, and just now she had to lie to him.

"I love you too." Another awkward pause. "Goodbye."

The call dropped... and so did Tricia's eyes as she contemplated her adoptive father... to her, her real father, a concept that dredged up unnecessary things. The blast shield between Tricia and Fairy's cursing also dropped. "WHAT THE HELL IS THE BIG FUCKING-"

"I had to take a call," Tricia sternly replied, "and just found out why the Order is attacking John: he was branded a rogue mage..." Which means... Tricia didn't want to contemplate what it meant.

"Well, at least we know where we can get these two weaklings and get them to safety... unless that big house was-"

"That was the Estate," Tricia tersely interrupted.

"...Then we hit the Estate," Fairy declared triumphantly, "for them and to save John!"

"You have slightly above zero understanding of what you're proposing," Tricia sighed as she eyed the second camera feed. The second Cadillac had slowly rolled into the garage of a nearby, unassuming house; she marked it for later research. "I've only ever gotten glimpses of its fortifications and systems and guards... and it is infamous for having several underground levels besides. A group of unarmed Abyss monsters-" Alysha scoffed. Fairy grimaced. "- and myself won't be enough to get through the front door unharmed... nevermind everything else. Nevermind that we'd need to worry about what they do to John, Lily, and Brenda..." To say nothing of the Warden, whose strength keeps growing... or the former Warden, who's no doubt still a formidable warrior... or their specialists, their mages, their army... Tricia's hands balled into fists on her lap. How? How can I rescue John...? How could Moira just... let this...?

Fairy shook her head... and broke the silence with an uncharacteristically calm, worried voice. "This can't be... the end for him."

Tricia clenched her teeth. No... no it can't. But what can we do? What can I do?

Fairy's head suddenly perked up. "We just need reinforcements," Fairy whispered conspiratorially, "from someone not on the Order's side."

Tricia shook her head as she directed the car's auto-pilot back towards her lab. "They've contracts with every major organization that isn't twisted or corrupt... and they're probably built to make sure they can take on exactly that kind of frontline offensive. Even if we tried to recruit one of those groups... and I wouldn't dare, not ever... the Order does little else but hunt them and has become so specialized as to be very efficient at defeating any such magic. It would be suicide for such a group... nevermind that we would have to deal with their ulterior motives-"

"Someone not on their list, then... maybe a small group, one that could work with us to..." Fairy's eyes narrowed... and her teeth glinted in the sun. "Yes... yes, they practically owe John, don't they?!" Tricia tossed a meaningful look through the mirror at the diminutive hell-fairy, but the latter continued, "Give me a map of this stinkin' town!"

Tricia sighed before a drone rose from the front seat to comply with a full holographic layout of Springfield.

"Right... here!" Fairy pointed to a shopping center nearby. "Take us there!"

Tricia wrinkled her nose at the hologram mirrored in her HUD, now with a red dot where the flying dwarf's finger had poked a hole into the projection. It was in the newest part of Springfield, an expansion that had consumed the poorest length of the town and renovated, revitalized, and, in the more bitter terminology of local politics, gentrified it. "Why there?"

"Just do it! It's based on intel John got from one of his stupid quests."

Tricia sighed as she assigned the direction; they had more than enough time to turn around if she didn't like Fairy's elaboration. "Explain."

Fairy sat back down as she brushed her chin, returning to her usual self with a smirk. "Master very stupidly wasted a quest reward of his to learn everything someone knew about a particular subject... and I was there, observing him through the psychosphe- you know what, don't worry about it," Fairy suddenly declared, dismissing Tricia with a wave of her hands, "this isn't anything you need to know. Point is, we're going to visit our friends... at a little arcade they think is their secret hideout."

"John has been here before, then?"

"Not even once, but it doesn't matter," Fairy chuckled.

"Who... are these friends?" Tricia cautiously asked.

Fairy grinned. "You already met them: those losers who called themselves Collide."

---

Meanwhile, at the Academy...

"Achoo!" Rave rubbed her nose as she finished her piss in the girl's restroom and looked all around the stall with a grimace. "Fucking dusty-ass bathroom..." With a final rub of her nose, she reached for the toilet paper.

---

Meanwhile, in West Virginia...

Jacob closed the dated flip-phone he still used... and tried not to frown as he looked upon it. He lifted his eyes to look out through his bedroom window to see the backyard where his young recruits continued to play, gaily and joyfully, under his watch. She... didn't even seem to register her own emotions. Even though she used her BCI to speak to me... they were there, dripping from her every word like... like she didn't even have limiters on. Jacob's frown deepened as he took a step back and sat on his bed. The brown turtleneck suddenly felt oppressive around his throat. Such emotion... it's been years since I've heard her without control... Jacob hardened his resolve. She's lying... and... she's either resisting her suit, or she's abandoning it... why this change? Was it the rogue mage? Jacob sighed as he thought of Tricia: that poor, innocent child who was **** to endure a terrible curse.

He sighed thinking of his duties.

He began rummaging through his closet for a new set of clothing: a white button-down shirt, his armored trenchcoat, and cargo pants for that "casual" touch. Tricia, I truly hope you are well... and I hope I can help you back onto the right path. Jacob reached up to a shelf in the corner of the closet, just out of sight... and pulled out his matte black revolver, an MP-412 PEKC. Please, my dearest chistotel... prove my faith in you; prove that old witch wrong. He checked the chambers: .357 magnum rounds were plenty on their own, but they'd hardly worry a Gorbachev-designed suit equipped with anti-ballistic nanite programming. A purple Eye with a green iris and red pupil erupted on Jacob's bare hand and looked briefly over the rounds. He whispered to them in Russian, "[Speak only to human flesh.]" The Eye obliged, and each of the six rounds in the cylinder glowed a sickly green-purple.

He prayed briefly to the Christ that he would not need them. "Please..."

---

11:20AM
Sub-Level H: Invisum Conservavit

"The Sage is still there preparing the prisoner, my Warden,” Sir Krieg calmly explained as he followed Moira’s angry stride. “I'm not sure it's safe yet to-"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Moira's bare fist may as well have been made of steel as it slammed repeatedly into the giant doors of John's cell. Each stood ten feet tall and was painted a foreboding black that marked it as standing apart from the smaller, gray cell doors that lined the hall. The number “04” was painted on the left in a large, yellow font; a small ward of fortification from some unknown mage glittered in the far corner of the right door. “Do the other cells like this one also have... guests?”

“Yes." Moira's glance demanded more. "The Hound is in cell zero-three, along with the doctor nursing her to health; zero-two holds an unfortunate soul possessed by a Hive spirit that was captured three years ago; zero-one has been forbidden to me, and so I cannot say what lies inside.” Moira cast a worried look at the door before knocking again.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Then the rest of the cells... what do they-?”

The doors clicked, then clicked again, and a series of hydraulic pumps sounded off as the bolts lining the doors, each bolt as thick as an arm, slowly unscrewed from the doorway. The doors ceased their shuttering and, with a groan of tired steel, pried themselves apart. The Sage’s voice crept from the chamber before Moira could properly see inside. “Everything here is an enemy of mankind, my Warden,” he lectured, “but those behind the Black Doors are of special interest in keeping.” Moira’s eyes found John’s bound feet and only traveled up as she inhaled in surprise. The sage continued, “Some more special than others...”

Moira’s eyes obsessed over the bindings of John. The bench holding him had adjustable trays for arms, legs, a torso and a head, and the entire thing rested on an adjustable arm bolted to the floor. John now “stood” in a manner of speaking: the chair, shaped in the outline of a man, had been pressed to his back from the top of his scalp to the ends of his wrists and ankles, all while dozens of metal bindings tightly clenched his flesh to this prison within a prison. He had been stripped of his equipment and trappings from the battle: he now wore naught save what looked suspiciously like a Vow Keeper for men, one that was likely crafted by the same European mages who made Moira’s. The Warden took a moment before tearing her eyes from the temporarily-neutering belt to see the rest of John: through the bindings, she could see that his body had grown more toned and muscular since the last time they were intimate, as if his body was still adapting to his alleged stats. A hideous scar ran over his chest as she remembered it from Yarrick’s nearly lethal attack; a new scar, running from over his left nipple to wrap around his torso, indicated where her father’s sword had cleaved through him. A finger wide, the tissue there was a leathery, ugly reminder of how she had nearly, indirectly, cost John his life.

She hesitated to look upon his face, but **** herself to do it once she realized her avoidance. His hair had been shaven clean. A shaped steel dome seemed molded onto his head, covering his left eye, the left side of his brain, and his left ear in a uniform chrome interrupted only by brass plugs with wires attached to a nearby cart of instruments. Similar plugs had been attached to bindings here and there all over John’s body, though Moira struggled to understand their purpose.

She struggled to do anything but pity the half-hidden features of her husband, bound here like a monster. “What have you done to him...?”

“Nothing permanent, my Warden, I assure you,” Cornelius boasted, “and only the slightest bit invasive... at least in the physical sense.”

A small ding from the cart. Cornelius quickly hustled to it and, with an empty phial from his belt, revealed the machine’s purpose. He aligned the hand-length glassware to a nozzle, turned a knob... and watched as glowing blue liquid filled it to full until the knob was disengaged. The sparkling fluid was known to Moira: it was the physical manifestation of an ethereal **** in all things. “Mana” to the Gaia faithful, including herself... and her stomach nearly turned as she watched Cornelius greedily slam it back like a shot into his own mouth.

“What are you-”

“Aaah,” he declared with a smack of his lips until he realized Moira’s horror. “Ah, pardon me, my Warden... I just expended such energies getting him setup and... well, this seemed the most convenient way to recharge-"

The Warden's shield leapt from Moira's summer dress to grow and latch onto Moira's left arm. A halo of light, the Warden's light of war, suddenly blossomed behind her head. "That is his spiritual energy! The Order- nay, the Lady would never tolerate such violation of the soul-!"

"T-This is only mana, my Warden!" Cornelius pleaded as the Warden reached into her shield for a weapon. "His soul is completely unharmed by us! It is wounded by his encounter with the Cabal, no doubt, but that damage is untouched, his soul is perfectly intact, and we need-!" Her hammer raised before the cart... and paused as the aged mage quickly stood in her way. "-we need to keep his mana extracted!"

"Why?" the Warden demanded.

"He produces it at an alarming rate; I noticed it before, but even now, while ****, he is producing a significant amount of it. I suspect he'll produce even more once awake... and if we're to keep him from trying to kill your father or **** you again," the old sage angrily declared as he pointed, less bravely, at her nethers, "we must deny him his power, as we do with all mages in our... possession."

Moira looked between the device and John... and stopped as she got a feel for his aura. It did indeed continue to gleam as healthily as she remembered it; she recalled Kim’s wounded presence, by contrast, and shuddered at the difference. Nothing in the Sage's tone suggested lies... nor did the Lady's guidance. It was only Moira, then, who felt disgust with the practice. "You... can you swear upon your oaths to the Lady that his soul will remain unchanged and undamaged?"

"Absolutely," Cornelius happily laughed, "by the Lady's will, we've seen mages tied to these machinations for years without negative result... some such mages even serve the Order now, as proof! It is merely a safety precaution, my Warden... and one that happens to produce... a useful byproduct. Certainly, we exercise a care that is absent from the heretical "mana factories" of notoriety, wherever we have not already crushed them."

Moira lowered her hammer... but it was not until the shield was again a brooch that Cornelius allowed his old body to relax. "Are his restraints complete, then?"

"Yes, my Warden," Cornelius replied, "though we've yet to coax him into consciousness for his first... interview."

Moira didn't need an explanation there. She eyed the same cart with the mana-sucking machinery: there, on a tray sitting on the topmost rack, gleamed a number of interrogation "tools" and, among them, the key to John's Vow Keeper. "I will be the first to speak to him... and I will do so alone."

Cornelius' head was shaking before he spoke; he looked to Sir Krieg as if for backup, but the knight was already turning to standby and wait for Lord Brighton. "The Confessor will be an excellent guide for the process, my Warden. He will be here in-"

Moira's gaze returned to Cornelius; she needed no words.