Broker

The shirt was Lucci, from the Mikayla Summer collection, and made of silk with patterns along the collar and down the placket. It shone a bit in the light beating down from overhead. The slacks were from the same collection, perfectly fitted to add a layer of dignity and gravitas with each step. The shoes were leather, shiny, and black. He adjusted the gold cufflinks at his wrists and smiled to himself. There was something so satisfying about a perfectly tailored set of clothes. He stepped out from his bedroom and onto the mezzanine, looking over the large living area below. Just past it was a massive window that made up a full portion of the wall. Beyond it, the New York skyline.

His lip twitched, and he gripped the railing. The view was nice, but it didn’t change the coiling snake of fury that kept writhing in his gut. Miss Chernovna was hosting a tournament, and the members of the ASTA Guilds were forbidden from participating. So what if we’re already sponsored? he thought sourly. Something like that is the perfect way to earn some renown. He shook it off and turned his thoughts elsewhere. Riot better have some news about this assignment Bluestar gave us. 

“I’m getting tired of waiting,” Otis said to himself before looking down to see a head of black hair streaked with blue. The girl it was attached to was lying down on his new sofa, relaxed, her eyes closed and a smile on her face. She wore a large set of headphones over her ears and was flicking her toes to a beat he couldn’t hear. He shook his head and walked down the mezzanine towards the stairs. “Felwinter.”

She sat up and pulled her headset back behind her ear, looking up at him with those beautifully cold eyes. “You finally up?” she asked.

“Mm.” He nodded. “It’s been a while since I slept somewhere appropriate. Wanted to enjoy it.”

“Restless already?” she asked with a smirk.

He scowled. “As a matter of fact, yes,” he said flatly and continued descending the stairs. “Where’s Riot?”

“In the library,” she said with a shrug, pointing towards a large sliding barn door that was hanging from one of the walls bordering the living room. “This is a nice place. How’d you get it?”

“Someone who used to work for me owned it,” Otis said dryly. “I had him discreetly take it off the market before he died. He arranged for me to purchase it once I made it here.”

She grinned. “You killed him?”

He shook his head as he made it to the foot of the steps and began walking towards the door to the library. “No, that was Ishtar,” he said, and the temperature around him dropped a few degrees. His jaw set as his hands balled into fists. The memory of Kingshark throwing him around like a ragdoll was mortifying. Falling behind her in the race towards divinity was even worse. He clenched his teeth before searching for calm. I need to hold my temper. I chose skills over anonymity, he thought, and managed to push the feelings aside.

He stopped at the door and threw it to the side, Felwinter hopping to her feet and making her way over to stand next to him. She gave him a quizzical look, and he smirked at her. “It feels like she’s been trying to get in my way since the day of the flash. She’s become my main obstacle.”

“That’s an understatement. She tried to kill your golden goose,” Felwinter joked, earning her a glare from Otis. She held her hands up. “Sorry.”

He sniffed and forced out a laugh, finding his good humor. “It’s fine. Chernovna’s alive, and that’s all that matters. Our sponsor is clearly a survivor,” he said coolly before stepping into the library. It was a large space with rows of bookshelves blocking off direct line of sight to the entrance to the room. The lights in the library were softer than in the rest of the house, a measure to make reading more comfortable, he guessed. “Riot! Did you find anything interesting for us?” he asked aloud. The first response he got was the sound of clattering and a chair moving quickly. He stepped past a bookshelf and found Riot standing next to a reading table, his glasses askew and his hair a mess. “Napping?”

Riot nodded quickly and fixed his hair, straightening his glasses over sunken eyes. “Yes,” he said, “I finished researching that assignment from the Guildmaster, sir.”

Otis beamed at Riot. “Riot! You don’t need to be so formal! We’re friends, aren’t we?” He laughed and walked over to clap Riot on the arms. “Come on, you aren’t like those lesser things out there. You’re better, that’s why I picked you! The man who killed Liberty,” Otis said warmly, his smile unbroken even as his next words came out like a whip crack. “Say it.”

Riot’s pupils shrank a little, his throat bobbing. He held Otis’ gaze and seemed to visibly shrink while he stood there. He cleared his throat. “Otis, I think the details will interest you,” Riot said quickly, his voice trembling a little. Felwinter chuckled at him, and he shot her a withering look. 

Otis ignored the exchange, his smile widening even more. “Do tell!”

Riot looked back at him. “There’s a hospital between here and Bridgeport,” he began and pulled out his phone, tapping a few things before turning it around to show Otis. “Strange goings-on, even for this post-flash world. People lose track of time while inside, working for days without knowing and dropping dead. It happens sporadically, so it's hard to pin down the cause.”

“Light-touched serial killer?” Otis asked, flipping through the information that Riot provided him. The guy was right, this was very interesting. Reports of hallucinations and monster attacks, but no damage to body or property. Nothing. “Illusions? Very interesting.”

“Sounds like fun,” Felwinter said. “Why hasn’t any other hero picked it up?”

“Not enough evidence to tie it to actual light-touched activity, and the Carter readings of the building have remained the same since the flash. A little high, but nothing that would cause regular monster formations or a dungeon,” Riot said.

“A hot zone,” Otis said with amusement. “Let’s check it out.”

–

The main lobby of the hospital was just as busy as any other. People were coming and going, mostly visitors, though there appeared to be a few patients milling about. Otis scanned the area with his eyes and his senses, his lip twitching upward just a bit more. My, my, the air here is very thick. He flexed his fingers and tried to draw some of it in. It doesn’t feel quite right, like it isn’t mine. It feels like a dungeon. He frowned. That won’t do at all.

“You feel that?” Felwinter murmured.

“Yes, we’ve stepped into someone else's territory,” Otis said thoughtfully.

“The karmic threads here are all jumbled. There are so many lives connected I can’t make heads or tails of where things start and end,” Riot murmured, turning in a circle before facing Otis. “I’ll focus on supporting you two unless I see something that stands out.”

Otis nodded. “Good,” he said as a man in a suit hurried in their direction, his hand outstretched. Otis turned merrily to him and extended his own hand. “You must be Doctor Fenwick!” he said as he shook the man’s hand.

Fenwick was an athletically built man who could be described as conventionally attractive if you discounted the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. He cleared his throat and nodded. “You’re the heroes the ASTA guild sent?”

“That’s right, I am Otis,” Otis said, extricating his hand from the man’s grip. He turned to Felwinter and Riot to conceal wiping his hand off on his slacks. “And these are my teammates, Felwinter and Riot,” he introduced them before turning back to the man. “I know you’re a busy man, Doctor, so why don’t you direct us to where the strangeness normally happens, and we’ll get out of your way.”

Fenwick nodded as a chime rang out.

<Paging Doctor Fenwick. Doctor Fenwick line six. Doctor Fenwick line six.>

Otis glanced up at the ceiling and then back to Fenwick. “Duty calls?”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” he said quickly. “You’re looking for the Grayson Extended Care Ward.”

Otis gave him a winning smile. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, and the man hurried away. Otis resisted the urge to scowl at the man as he turned towards the wall where a map and directory of the hospital were on display. Get your filthy sweat all over my hand, will you? he thought irritably before exchanging a look with a weary-looking Riot. He scoffed and shook his head. “We’re going,” he commanded and was pleased not to hear a sigh of relief from Riot.

“Nice,” Felwinter hissed and started towards the elevator. Before she reached it, Otis snatched her wrist, and she turned back to look at him with a frown. “What?”

“Stairs,” Otis said. “Let’s avoid enclosed spaces where lots of mana can congregate for now.”

She considered him. “Good point. I hate stairs, though.”

“So do I, but we have a job to do,” he said dismissively. “Might as well do it right.” Exceptional work means more fame. More fame means increasing my level. His renown had been growing, albeit too slowly for his liking. He hadn’t even leveled up once since coming back from the war. He needed to do something big, and a case going this far back was just the thing.

They found the stairwell fairly quickly and ascended without incident, making their way up to the fourth floor where a sign hung indicating the area they were entering was the Grayson Extended Care Ward. Unlike the rest of the hospital that seemed to buzz with activity, the hallway that they stepped into was quiet as a tomb. Only the occasional beeping of one machine or another somewhere in the distance broke up the unearthly silence. Otis peered through the open door and crossed his arms. Something feels …off. Even as his senses told him nothing was amiss, he activated his Immunity cheat with a gesture and stepped inside as a young woman stepped out of one of the many rooms lining the hall.

She was rail thin with bright green eyes and brown hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. She looked tired, her eyes sunken deep as she wrung her hands and walked towards the nurses’ station, not even giving them a second glance. Next to him, Felwinter yawned and walked ahead with Riot. Otis followed close behind as he cast his senses about him. Nothing. Just more of that ever-present energy. He glanced at Riot’s back. I am liking this less and less, he thought as he joined them at the counter. 

The woman looked up with a tired smile, her badge indicating she was Nurse June Royce. He eyed her fingers. She’d been biting her nails. He looked back into her eyes as she scanned their faces in turn. Above their heads, the lights flickered, but she paid it no mind.

“Welcome to the Extended Care Ward, I’m June,” she said. “And you must be the heroes they called in.”

Introductions were quick and then they were given something of an orientation, which took half an hour, much to Otis’ chagrin. Nurse Royce was pleasant enough, to his sensibilities, if a bit vapid. She seemed to grow distant now and then as they spoke before snapping back to the conversation. She explained what kind of patients were treated at the ward, those dealing with everything from long-term recovery to coma. What was most intriguing to Otis was her reactions to their questions about the unusual activity.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen anything like that,” June said apologetically. “The only excitement, if you could call it that, has been the incident with Doctor Grayson,” she said with a bit of sadness.

Riot raised his hand to his lips and exhaled through his nose before clearing his throat. “Sorry, late night,” he said politely.

She smiled at him. “I know that feeling. There are some cots in the room back there if you need some rest,” she said, gesturing to the door behind the nurses station. Otis watched her face, his eyes narrowing at the look of longing in her eyes as she stared at the door before turning back to them.

Otis crossed his arms. “Who was this Doctor Grayson? What happened?” He’d already heard the basics from Riot on the way over, but a fresh perspective would be valuable. External information was generally incomplete - something he’d learned in his years cooped up doing research.

She let out a sigh. “He was attacked by a patient suffering from delusions,” she said. “If you believe it will help you, he died in that room over there,” she said and pointed down the hallway. “Room four forty-nine.”

Riot glanced at Otis and nodded at him while Otis brandished another brilliant smile at the woman. “We’ll check around and try not to disturb the patients,” he said.

She returned his smile with a tired one of her own and nodded, dipping her head back down over her paperwork without another word. The three of them turned away, Otis rubbing at his eyes. He frowned a little. “Such a comfortable bed, for all the sleep I got,” he muttered irritably. They passed a few doors, and the lights flickered again. He glanced up at them and frowned.

“That’s what happens when you don’t have a good partner,” Felwinter said offhandedly. “You know, I-”

“Not interested,” Otis said flatly and gestured to the lightbulbs above them. “Give me a boost.”

Felwinter cleared her throat and nodded, crouching down and placing her hands on the floor. Ice began to form beneath his feet. It slowly began to rise, growing thicker and taller until he was within arm’s reach of the bulbs. He placed his hand on one and felt the energy running through it. His nostrils flared as he concentrated and turned his ability towards identifying the object. It was something he was experimenting with since his guide function was currently lost to him.

<Object: Fluorescent Lightbulb. Condition: Near-New. Functionality: Full.>

He pulled his hand away, and Felwinter lowered him to the ground. “The lightbulbs are working fine. Nothing wrong with the electrical wiring either,” he said, turning to look down the hall they had come down. Something moved just out of his sight and into one of the rooms near the stair doors. It was big. His lips twisted. “Illusion?” he muttered and shook his head before glancing at Riot. “Did you see…” he trailed off.

Riot was yawning and staring at the door to room four forty-nine, a thoughtful expression on his face. Otis felt a thrill go up his spine, and he turned to Felwinter, who was leaning against the wall, her eyes shut. Otis clenched his fists. That’s impossible. I have Immunity on. I turned it on when we entered the… ward. His hands fell to his sides, and he looked towards the part of the hallway where the figure had been. He turned to the nurses’ station only to see June was gone. He turned back to his New Heralds.

Gone.

“Mister Mallory!” a harsh voice barked out, and he was suddenly inundated with sensation. He could smell cut grass, sweat, and fresh air; he could feel the wind on his face. He blinked a few times and spun in a circle. He was outside. He looked to the source of the voice and saw a man standing on the back of a pickup truck. He wore a gray uniform. A police uniform. “What the hell are you doin’ boy?” the man barked.

Otis’ lips curled up in rage and disgust. Who does this ant think he is, speaking to me that way? He opened his hand to call his sword, and… nothing happened. He blinked and reached up to his throat, his chest starting to pound, a thudding in his ears. Mana Suppression Collar, he realized before looking down at himself. He wore a crusty, hideous orange jumpsuit. There were black letters emblazoned on the chest: INMATE. It reeked to high heaven.

“Inmate?” he breathed before looking up at the man, who had hopped off his truck and was stalking towards Otis with a hateful scowl.

“You just gonna ignore me, insect?” the man growled. “I’m talkin’ to you.”

Otis showed his teeth. “What did you call me?” he demanded.

The big man got in his face. “Insect. Subhuman. Thing,” he bit out the words one after another. “You’re lucky they even let you volunteer for community service.”

Nausea rushed up Otis’ throat. “Volunteer?” he breathed.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re here of your own free will. Too late to back out now. Now get to picking,” the officer said coldly. “You’re handing out food at a shelter next.”

Otis’ eyes widened as something raw, primal, and instinctive roared within him. He kicked back with all his mental might at what he was seeing. This was wrong. He was above everything and everyone. He did not serve. He did not cater. He was the man who would burn this world to the ground. It was his plaything. 

The big man stood over Otis, a sneer on his face. “What’s the problem?” he demanded. “Too good for community service now? Get to work, you little shit.”

Otis stared at him, disbelieving. No, he snarled. No, this isn’t right. You can’t keep me here. No one owns me, he thought as the big guy reached for his hip, grabbing a nightstick. Otis’ blood boiled in his veins. 

“Listen here, you insignificant cretin,” Otis snarled and snapped his hands out to grab the officer by the throat, squeezing down. The officer gasped, and he shoved the man to the ground with a laugh. “I’m going to peel your skin from your bones,” Otis hissed as he reached up with one hand, the other still pressing down on the officer’s larynx, and pressed his thumbnail against the officer’s forehead. “Try not to pass out.”

Mist roiled up around him, and the world gave way beneath his feet. He stumbled forward, crashing into a wall and staggering to his feet. He coughed, bent over as the hospital hallway came back into focus. He shuddered and looked around. Felwinter and Riot were gone.

Otis clenched his jaw. Where the hell are they? he thought, turning around in a circle. The air still felt heavy and oppressive as before. There was an odd tang in the air too, like blood. His lips curled into a scowl, and he stalked towards one end of the hall, stopping when the lights flickered. He glanced up at them irritably. How much of this is even real? That was a hallucination earlier. Is this one as well?

The anger bubbled up. The domain extends to the entrance of the hospital, not just this particular ward. It’s merely concentrated here, he thought and rolled his neck, loosening himself up. He passed a few more doors in the eerie dark before glancing back over his shoulder. I don’t hear the medical equipment anymore. 

The lights flickered again, and a shape moved out from within one of the doors. The lights flickered irregularly once more. It looked like a human corpse that had been broken and twisted, its limbs bent to press against the ground like a quadruped. Its head was split open down the middle, revealing rows upon rows of pointed spikes that could be teeth.

Otis’ frown deepened, and he held out his hand, his sword appearing in it. The creature let out a discordant shriek of pain and rage that echoed through the hall before charging at him. He stepped forward with callous focus, whipping his arm once before stepping past it. He glanced over his shoulder as it fell to the ground in pieces, blood spilling across the tile floor. It’s real, he thought. Not a lurker or a hound, though. He clenched his fists and flicked his gaze around his surroundings before opening his menu and activating his physical enhancement cheats one after another. This has to be a dungeon. Where’s the portal? Why does it look like this?

Something clicked noisily above his head, and he looked up to see another split-head maw reaching down towards him. He snarled and stepped away, whipping his sword out to cut the thing’s head off. It fell to the ground with a thud. He kicked it for good measure, sending it hurtling towards the far end of the ward hallway. It crashed into the door to the stairwell, which gave way, and it kept tumbling out.

I’ve had enough, he thought before shoving his hand out to the air and making a claw gesture with his fingers. No matter. It should work as well inside as outside, he thought.

<Error! Unable to assume debug privileges for target Dungeon. Existing dungeon administrator has locked you out. An enforcer has been dispatched.>

“What?!” Otis shouted just as something came charging at him from behind. He threw himself forward, sensing the incoming attack. He rolled and landed, spinning about just in time to hold his sword up and brace it with his palm. A powerful blow struck his weapon with enough force to embed his knee and feet into the tile beneath him. 

Above him was a thing in white scrubs, its faceless head the shape of some kind of wooden board, and grotesque muscle bulging beneath the thin clothes. In its hand was a pick hammer, the blunt end pushing down hard on his gleaming golden sword. He snarled and pushed back, shoving the creature off its feet. He lunged, a shout rising from his throat, only to swing through thin air.

He stumbled forward onto glossy white marble. “What now?” he spat and turned only to freeze in place at what he saw. His lips turned down, his nostrils flared, and his eyes went wide. 

“YOU!” he bellowed at the woman in white armor that stood no more than twenty feet away atop the disk of white marble floating in an endless void. He pointed his weapon at her. “ISHTAR!”

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