Dragonguard (Kingdom_Come)

"Where is everybody? John asked when he walked into the restaurant where he worked. It was a high end establishment with five stars, a Michelin star, others stars he couldn't even remember with an French chef who was every bit as good in the kitchen as she thought she was. Since it was such an expensive meal, it wasn't like they ever had a surplus of patrons, but John was fifteen minutes late for his shift. There should have been someone in the dining hall. For a moment he was worried they had royally failed a health inspection, but then he noticed a single woman seated in the very back of the restaurant.

"John, get in here!" Lock, his manager, whispered harshly.

"What's going on?" John asked.

“Get dressed,” Lock threw his uniform tuxedo at him, “And get out there. We only have one customer tonight. She bought out every table, twice, and she specifically requested you!”

“What?” John asked, “Why?”

“How should I know?” Lock asked back, “But she’s paying yours and everyone else’s salaries tonight by herself. Make us look good!” He rushed to put on the tuxedo, almost forgot to straighten his bowtie, and didn’t even have time to shine his shoes. Then he set his shoulders, cracked his neck, and strode out to the single customer.

When he reached the table, he cleared his throat and said, “Good evening, ma’am. My name is John and I’ll be serving you tonight. Can I get you started with anything?”

She was so tall, that even sitting down she barely had to look up to talk to him. Then she smiled and he wished she hadn’t. It was far from unpleasant, at least she wasn’t faking it, but there was something about it that felt… predatory.

But if she was a predator, she was a drop-dead gorgeous one. She was incredibly buxom, and her blouse’s neckline plunged all the way down her cleavage. John had enough sense not to stare, though. Her suit looked like it cost as much as a car, fit her like a glove, and was a deep, almost iridescent midnight blue. A necklace of cascading diamonds adorned her neck, and her ring looked even more expensive than the suit. Her looked like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be blond or red. It was styled expertly off to one side, which rich volume and seemed to glow in the low light of the restaurant. Her jawline was strong, but not masculine, and she had a very regal though not overly large nose. Her most striking feature, though, was her eyes. Her deep… gold… eyes...

“It’s not smart to look me in the eye,” she finally said with a voice like melted chocolate.

“I’m sorry,” John said, “May I get you started with anything?”

“Yes, I would appreciate it, Lieutenant,” she said.

“I am not enlisted anymore,” he said, “How do you even know who I am?”

“We’ll speak after my order,” she said. He handed her the menu and she ordered without even looking at it: the chardonnay pinot-noir and the black truffle linguine. It was the most expensive dish in the house. And she ordered for two.

When he returned to the kitchen with her order, Georgina, the head chef asked, “John, all the other waiters got sent home. What’s going on out there?”

“Probably some CEO flexing on us,” John said, “Maybe she wants to buy the restaurant. I don’t know.” Then he handed her the order and the kitchen staff got to work.

“Why’s she so interested in you?” Georgina asked.

“My rugged good looks, obviously,” he joked, “I still have the body I had in the army. If some hot, rich bitch wants my company, I won’t complain as long as she’s paying for it.” He returned with the champagne and she took a painfully slow sip. Then he noticed the file sitting on the table.

“Your service record, Lieutenant,” she said.

“Ma’am, this is making me extremely uncomfortable,” he said, “Who are you?”

“Someone who needs good soldiers,” she said. It took a second, but finally, he recognized her. He’d never met her in person, but he’d crossed paths with her people in the Middle East, and knew her face from a handful of security briefings.

“Wait, I know you,” he said, “You’re the owner of that PMC, Dragonguard. It’s Emura something, isn’t it?”

“Emura Maidenfire,” she introduced herself, “And I could use your help.”

“Dragonguard was investigated for war crimes on five occasions, and they destroyed a whole village in Uganda,” Daniel said.

“With zero human casualties,” Emura said.

"Maybe so,” he said, “But I don’t trust mercenaries. Enjoy your dinner, ma’am, but I’m afraid we have nothing more to discuss.” He started to walk away but then she said something that made him almost faint and brain himself on a nearby table.

“The creature that killed your men was a wendigo, John,” she said, matter-of-factly, as if such meaningless and absurd words were as mundane as discussing the weather. John found he couldn’t breathe and his blood had turned cold.

“Need air!” he gasped and ran outside onto the balcony. It was raining, because this was Seattle, so of course it was. He didn’t even notice as terrible memories came back.

Ghastly howling.

Teeth made of ice.

Eyes as cold and dead as winter.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

He returned to the present and realized he was soaking wet and the rain had ruined his work tuxedo. Lock found him out there a minute later.

“John? What the hell?” he asked before he saw the look on his face.

“Is it your PTSD,” he asked, “Did you have a trigger?”

“Yes, but I’m fine now,” he insisted.

“You sure?” his manager asked, “I can get someone else to wait on her.”

“No, no,” he said as they went back inside, “This has to be me.”

“If you say so,” Lock said, “The pasta’s ready, so go get changed, but we’re going to talk about this later.”

“Got it,” he said patting his shoulder. Five minutes later he returned to Emura with two plates of the black truffle pasta.

“Here,” he said sharply, “I hope you don’t expect me to join you after that.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dropped that bomb on you,” Emura said, “But I needed you to understand why I’m here.”

“If you want to hire me, you’re making a terrible first impression,” he said.

“Help me make it up to you, then,” she said, “This pasta isn’t just expensive, it’s really good too.” He rolled his eyes and slipped into the seat across from her.

“You can start by answering my questions,” he said.

“Ask away,” she said.

“How did you hear about me, and how did you get my service record?” he asked.

“A mutual friend of ours,” Emura explained between bites, “One Colonel Sindel gave you a glowing recommendation.”

“I highly doubt you two are friends,” he said, “He hates mercenaries as much as I do.”

“My employees are not mercenaries,” Emura explained, “They work for me, and me alone.”

“Oh, a private army, then. That’s so much better,” he said, “Second question, how the hell did you hear the truth about what happened in Canada? I didn’t dare mention it in the official report, and even the official report is classified.”

“Also Colonel Sindel,” she said.

“He never believed me,” he said, “He made me swear up and down they died in a helicopter accident due to inclement weather, or else I would be in a psych ward for the rest of my life.”

“Well, he told me to tell you that he was wrong,” Emura said, “He said that he should have believed you drom the start."

“Why didn’t he tell me himself?” he asked.

“He’s dead,” Emura said, “Two days ago in Syria. It hasn’t even made the news yet, but they’re going to blame it on a sandstorm.”

“I take it that it wasn’t actually a sandstorm,” he said.

“Well, technically it was,” Emura said, “But it’s a long story and there are too many… listeners present.” He peeked behind him and saw the rest of the staff spying on them from the kitchen.

“So why did you come to me?” he asked.

“Because you’re an incredible soldier,” she said, rapping her fingers on his service file, “One of the best I’ve seen, and I’ve met many more soldiers over the years than you realize. And that was before you met one of the world’s deadliest supernatural predators and lived to tell about it.”

“As if,” he said, “I let my whole unit die, and I can’t tell anyone about it because five government agents made some very convincing threats to make me shut up.”

“The government can go fuck themselves!” Emura said, “They want to aggressively ignore the supernatural world and they’re putting people in mortal danger every day by doing so. My people fight back. They’re all men like you, men who have not only met the things that go bump in the night, but sent them running back to where they came from. That alone makes you a worthy candidate in my eyes, more so now under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” he asked.

“The same creature that killed your unit has resurfaced,” she said quietly, “My men are experienced and highly-trained professionals, but we’ve never encountered a wendigo before. They’re nearly extinct these days, thank God, but not nearly extinct enough. My men will be slaughtered if they go in blind.” He sat in silence for a moment.

“So… your people are, what, monster hunters?” he asked skeptically.

"No. We're executioners," Emura said.

“Ah, and what about Uganda?” he asked.

“That was a terrible and unfortunate accident,” she said, “One I accept complete, personal responsibility for.”

“How do you “accidentally” napalm an entire village?” he asked.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, we made sure to evacuate all of the civilians beforehand," she explained, "Afterward, I paid to rebuild the village and upgraded its defenses. Now they’re even better off than they were before, I just wish it hadn’t come at such a high cost.”

“Was it a high cost to you, or them?” he asked.

“Unlike, say, Godzilla, I clean up my messes,” she said and John cocked an eyebrow at the unusual analogy.

“So, you want me to help you fight the monster that nearly killed me last time,” he said, “You saw what even mentioning it did to me a few minutes ago. What makes you think I can meet it again face-to-face? You also haven’t given me any idea of what’s in it for me.”

“My employees get better health benefits than you can get from the VA,” Emura said, “That means real help for you, not some cut-rate shrink.”

“My psychiatrist is actually pretty good.”

“You’ll also receive knowledge and training to protect yourself from any monster in the known universe," she said, "But I think you want something more tangible, in which case, I also pay seven figures.”

John choked on a bite of pasta and tried his hardest not to spit it out onto the plate.

“Seven?!” he asked. Emura nodded and showed him a check with his name on it.

“Two-and-a-half million…” he whispered before she slipped the check back into her purse.

“I’d be disappointed if you made any decision right here and now, so think on it,” she said then gave him her business card. There was metallic blue dragon printed on the front and the name “Dragonguard,” in a pseudo-medieval font.

“Whatever your decision, please call me in the next forty-eight hours,” she said, “If you accept, we’ll make a tentative job offer.”

“This isn’t an offer?” he asked.

“I want you to see what we do first,” she said, “In three days we have a very low-key, low-risk op that I’d like you to ride along for. I also want you to understand that I am giving you every opportunity to refuse. Your life might depend on it. But I have faith that you won’t.” And she left a thousand-dollar bill on the table and left the restaurant. He took the bill and stacked the dishes to take back to the kitchen. When Lock appeared at his side, John tried to hand over the money, but his manager refused.

“She already paid in advance,” he said, “That’s your tip, John.”