Not a Human’s Fight

The "mornings" of Vantage were, for the inner-Plate citizens of Vantage, more a matter of lethal curfew than light. So the world above was no brighter, but busier, with the coming of the next day; below the churning of life, of refinery laborers, of extractors half-poisoned by their work, and of the **** who had not even the privilege of such suffering, rested the packed ground, full of floatstone, dirt, and the odd pocket of bubbling, liquid Violet. But buried underneath one of the dusty immovables—considered too cold or unwelcoming for even the poorest denizens of the Plate—was the misshapen headquarters of the Bitter Nines... and they, too, grew busier with the day.

The morning brought rationed supplies among the “sick” humans, and drawn plans among the healthy ones and their Vantage allies. The entire lot of them had been advised by Rosa and Zalla, in Earth and Vantage tongues, of where the three missing humans had gone. All the same, the activity in the headquarters peaked as the trio returned from the reality-bending hatch under the table. Yui was quick to scurry to her bedroll, if only to hide from the knowing grins of John’s minions; Tricia was immediately pounced-upon by Rave who, with wide eyes, was immediately groping at her new armor. “Whoa! Guess you found some inspiration while you were in there, hmm?”

Despite her confidence in front of Yui, Tricia was left stammering, “W-We were able to maximize productivity in an isolated environment, in large part thanks to the fabricating abilities of-”

“Did you tell him?” the pink-haired dynamo whispered.

“N… Not in so many words…” Rave gave Tricia a half-lidded stare. “I-I think I communicated… effectively…” Rave continued her stare. “T-That is… the moment was rather serene, a-and then we had an unexpected guest, and it wasn’t private anymore… but I’ll tell him. I promise!”

Rave gave a defeated sigh and a shrug. “Hey, don’t go promising me anything; you only owe it to yourself.” Tricia nodded idly in response, her eyes cast to the dirt. Seeing her ally defeated left Rave eager to change topics. “Anyways, want to tell me about the crazy cyberpunk knight armor you made for yourself?” Rave gently groped the armored scales of Tricia’s chest, finding no innuendo in her appreciation of the uniform craftsmanship. “It looks uncomfortable as all Hell.”

While Tricia began to drill technical specifications into a beleaguered Rave, John had been intercepted by another woman… of a sort.

[MM= https://youtu.be/vCXsRoyFRQE]

“So, is this still it? Our clever new plan is what I’ve been wanting to do since I woke up down here?” Miles the Human was more amused than annoyed in her voice, but any irritation was clearly meant for Golgon and all the other Bitter Nines who kept her from going out on a murdering spree. In what seemed to be her favorite habit, Miles continued to walk about stark naked save the knot of her loincloth; as if to tempt John, she greeted him by pressing her generous and soft breasts against his arm. “I mean, you know… besides fucking everything I find beautiful. Has anyone ever called you ‘beautiful,’ Human?”

“You’re still barking up the wrong tree,” John tersely replied.

“Your companions are braver than you, then,” she chided with a pout before giving him a tight hug and resting her head on his shoulder, “but I know you’ll come around.” The waves of her rising hair engulfed John’s face for a moment, rinsing his senses in mild confusion… and an arousal so intense as to be bewildering.

What the… is she using aphrodisiac on me?! He pulled his head back from hers and found that, no, she had not somehow pierced his defenses… but instead he had simply heard, smelled, tasted, felt, and seen her desire emanating from her head… as if her mind was an open book to be consumed by every sense. What the Hell is that hair of hers?! Less importantly: why was she so intensely into John? “We’ve got work to do,” he finally spat before blinking from her grip and drawing closer to Golgon the Fool.

The Ootuk elder was sipping a viscous, brown-black liquid—not coffee, as some of the Order knights had hoped—when he turned and nodded to the Gamer. “Brave mornings to you, John the Newman… and to that bravery, I ask: has your resolve shaken? Have you any hesitation?”

“Only in involving anyone else,” John replied with a shake of his head, “but I’ll do what I can to make sure most of the aggro falls on me.”

“A….grow?”

“Eh… that most of the Lawmen are busy fighting me so the rest of you are safe.”

“What, so you can give them more naps?” Miles yelled as she crossed the gap towards them. “You’re probably going to fight some of the traitors you spared… and then again if you don’t learn your lesson.”

John glared back at the nude warrior… but he wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t really changed any minds just by knocking those Lawmen out, did he? Not if the Peak’s Commandment made them slaves… just like the Order… Just like the Order. “They’re going to be stuck obeying the Peak until we get rid of the Peak… and if they want to fight to the **** after they’re free, that’s their right. But right now? They don’t have any will of their own… and they shouldn’t be punished for it.”

Zalla, who had stood nearby and ready to brief them on First Station, seemed more confused than relieved by his words..

Golgon, too, cocked his head in curiosity. “They had their will when they joined, John the Newman… and they joined knowing full well they would kill their fellow Vantage survivors for minor slights, or else cast them down to where such would be their fate. The Lawmen you see as prisoners were not hesitant to bloody their hands with their neighbors… and so I only ask: where do you find this virtue you seem to expect from them once their Peak has fallen?”

John opened his mouth to respond… but what answer could he give? The Order goons joined in the expectation that they were protecting humanity from the Abyss, evil wizards, and monsters… and only afterwards were some of them so unfortunate as to discover the depths of depravity that would entail. But what of the Lawmen? They were not so tasked… and if their tasks are so infamous, then…

“This new government you two cooked up has no need for heartless killers.” John turned to Miles and met her far-off gaze. The mirth and sarcasm was gone… but just for a second before her grin flashed back into place. “Well… that goes for me too, sure, but I can keep myself busy in other ways.”

“You mentioned wanting to attack the First Station before… for what purpose?”

“To kill the Lawmen,” Miles simply replied.

“As poetic as a club to the face, hah!” shot back the gregarious, laughing voice of Hurk the Smiling Fist. The giant walked back from helping the humans with their supply shuffling—the big man couldn’t help but fawn over them like children—already suited in thick plates of stone that covered his torso and legs. His giant, meaty arms remained bare and rippling with muscles, even as he cracked his knuckles in no (conscious) attempt to intimidate those around him. Every pop of his bones sounded like a gun being fired. “What our resident psychopathic murderer means to say, good Human, is that she lacks the care for poetic justice or even consensual lovemaking. She is very troublesome, ho ho!” Miles cracked her own knuckles at the giant as if to compete. The Smiling Fist’s grin only grew as his arms rose to clap his hands together. A soft breeze blew at John from the impact. “Oh, aiming to prove me wrong, my tiny little pervert?”

“That’s enough from you both,” Golgon chastised, “or at least save it for where we’ll need it most…” With a glance, Golgon signaled to Cidi who remained standing by the polymorphic panel of black glass. With a touch of her fingers—the only part of her besides her eyes not now covered in blue cloths—she activated the panel… and created a model of the massive structure they now intended to rob. “Because if we’re going to attack the heart of the Lawmen on the Plate… we’ll need every bit of strength we can muster.”

“Just let me handle them,” John insisted, “and you focus on taking the materials.”

“I’ve seen your gifts, John the Newman… but they will not suffice.”

“You’ve seen a bit of what I can do,” he replied, “but more than that… I can’t risk my people in this fight, not more than I need to, and it’s unfair to risk your people instead.”

“Hah! Unfair? This is our home, young Human, not yours; it is our fight, not yours; and it is our plan, not yours, that necessitates these metals. You have an interest in all three,” the elder admitted, “but you cannot suggest this is your fight before it is ours. I’ll hear no more of it.”

John was at a loss; Golgon had dropped the gentleness of the previous day, but at the same time the elder’s relationship score had only gone higher; was this terseness proof that perhaps he saw John as something closer to being an equal in this conspiracy? John tried to read the old Ootuk’s mind again, but again he was given the same result: just a mirroring of the man’s words, sometimes repeated until he said something else. A difficult ally to read, John concluded, but his silence was taken as consent to the old man’s judgment, and so the conversation continued.

“Let us review our plan of attack, then… starting with everything your enslaved Lawman knows.”

John thought to correct that label, but enslaving her mind was the only reason they trusted her at all; he apologized to her mentally and hoped she understood.

<I understand that I’m a ****… and pregnant with my enslaver’s young.>

... Close enough for now. John sighed his frustration and joined the others.