Battlefield Regulation 6 – Clients Will Reveal More than they Mean, Use This

The word hangs in the forest air like a settling fog. It nixes several possibilities from the list I had constructed in my head and highlights others. Just one word and I can adapt and change what I’m considering based on it.

None of us respond immediately. I presume that Chaisee, Rehema, and Sara are coming up with their own thoughts to share with me later. And the socially polite thing is to wait for elaboration. Elaboration that never comes.

The client repeats themself. “Assassination.”

Slower this time, like they’re unsure we even understood. The client looks at each of us and then goes to say it a third time.

“We heard you.” I cut them off and put my hands up in a placating motion. “One word does not a mission make. You haven’t even told us the target.” be polite to the client, I remind myself in my head. That is, at the moment, much harder than I’d thought it would be. I don’t have much love for grounders who act like we’re some alien species.

I don’t much like the client for different reasons. There’s too many mixed signals: expensive jewelry carefully color matched with each other and the inner shirt of their suit paired with shoes that are actively falling apart – gaping open and revealing toes when the client shuffles a little too much. Their suit is immaculately ironed… even the shoulder seams that are frayed like something once burst from inside the suit. Attempting to check the feed shows me a completely anonymized feed profile. No name, no pronouns, no details at all.

I take a deep breath. In. Out. The out comes with a cloud of frost but I still sound and look professional so I’m counting that as a win.

“Details?” Rehema prompts when five minutes tick by without a single additional comment from the client.

Don’t like that either.

“Oh – oh! Right. Right. You need details. okay. So. Call me Mx. Jones.” a duck of their head in an almost bow. “I’m your client, you can check the paperwork to be sure if you need.” they say, waving one hand. “Though really it’s a group of us that got together for this so responses might take a minute so I can put it to the others.”

Fairly reasonable I feel, and tuck that information away for later. Groups that elect one person for their spokesperson and client aren’t always the best for working with. Differences in thoughts and desires can cause great schisms. We should prepare for one of those…

Mx. Jones has trailed off and now they clap their hands together like that’s all they can think of to bring themself back on task. “We need you to kill the new High Mage.”

There it is. Target, what kind of collateral damage we should prepare for. But… why? I don’t ask that aloud; many clients are more than willing to lie or conceal their reasoning. Most of my research on the High Mage before we were attacked indicated that they’re a well loved individual. My paranoia insisting that they had something to do with the hostiles aside, I saw no trace of even dissent in that quick look.

“…That it?” Chaisee tilts her head to one side as she asks, leaning forward a little. “Y’all figured you’d call up some Riptide Agent or a few an’ go ‘Say we need you to kill a High mage an’ we’ll keep you here away from home ’til you get it done’?” her eyebrows arch. Her tone isn’t normally this sharp, though I’m much of the same mind so I give a small nod when Mx. Jones looks at me like they’re expecting me to reproach her.

“Well it’s not like it’s easy!” Mx. Jones throws their hands up. The fabric on the shoulder seams rips more.

Sara shakes her head. “If it was easy, you folks wouldn’t need us.” she says, tone gentle and encouraging. Friendly – that’s the word I was thinking of. “But my friend here does have a point, so could you answer that please?” Sara glances to Chaisee pointedly. “It’s easier to work when we’re aware of the plan.”

Mx. Jones tosses me a look that’s blatantly trying to ask me for help – like they expect a squad leader to side with the client over the squad they themselves picked out. Perhaps a different leader might have done so. I will not be doing that. Instead I arch my brow pointedly and nod my head at my squad.

The skittish client gives in under our combined stares. “The new High Mage isn’t human. We don’t- we’ve seen them pull magic right out of folks and leave them husks! That’s why nobody speaks out anymore. One of us tried hitting them with our car but they just healed and came for the driver. We tried hiding our friend but they went outside after a noise and we’ve not seen them since.”

Silence gives way to a torrent and Mx. Jones wrings their hands faster and harder together like the action will clean something.

“Somebody even tried assassinating the High Mage with a sniper rifle! I saw the High Mage go down but then they got back up and I don’t know what happened after that. And people have been going missing. Some of them even turned up later praising the High Mage! And we have to rig the races because the High Mage said which horses they liked and everyone’s too scared to not let those horses win because what if-”

“Breathe.” Rehema instructs. They sound… calm isn’t quite the word I want. A glance out of the corner of my eye confirms that their tail is ticking back and forth. Hunting.

Mx. Jones wheezes.

All four of us share looks while we give our client a chance to catch their breath. The desperation sounds real enough.

Once Mx. Jones is breathing easier, Sara speaks up. “What is the High Mage’s specialization?” she’s glancing up from her phone with a furrowed brow and a sharp frown. I think it might be the first time I’ve seen her frown like that.

I’d meant to look up more about the High Mage role while we were in the air. The sudden hostiles had driven the thought right out of my mind until just now. It returns, hovering ominously as something I don’t have many data points on. High Mage isn’t one of the roles I researched. The likelihood of myself or Yilmaz winding up with it was so infinitesimal that doing so seemed a waste of time. That judgement is making me chew the inside of my cheek now.

But Sara seems to have the information I lack. We go through another round of Mx. Jones giving me that futile look like she thinks I’m going to corral my squad before our client answers.

“They don’t have one.”

Sara’s frown deepens into a scowl as she shakes her head. “All High Mages have a specialization.” she says. “That’s how that role works. High Mage of -Insert Specialization here-. High Mage of Fireballs. High Mage of Lightning. Sometimes it gets shifted to High Mage of a location, or just High Mage when everyone knows who you’re talking about but there’s no such thing as a High Mage without a specialization.”

I take the chance to look it up myself. It’s not that I don’t trust what Sara is saying, because I do. I’m shoring up my own knowledge to satisfy my brain.

She’s right. High Mage is a specialized, advanced role.

There’s something I can ask- “Do you know much about the High Mage from before they came into power?” I ask. “Or can you tell us anything about the last High Mage?”

Mx. Jones relaxes. They look at me for a moment. And then- “I’m hiring you for an assassination.” they say without inflection.

“We understood that.” Chaisee waves one hand. “We need more information to get started planning.” she sounds annoyed.

I don’t blame her, I’m starting to get annoyed as well. Mx. Jones very clearly didn’t prepare for meeting with us.

“I’m hiring you for an assassination.” Mx. Jones says, still looking at me, still without inflection.

All of my fur raises in alarm. I don’t speak, I’m too busy running mental analysis and plans for evacuating my team. This bland repeating of what was said could be nothing. It could even be falling back to a script in the face of questions they weren’t ready for or don’t want to answer here. Justifications that don’t do anything to make me feel less alarmed.

“Do you not have further information for us?” Sara asks. “We can gather it ourselves if needed.”

“I’m hiring you for an assassination.” Mx. Jones says without blinking.

“I’d like a moment to confer with my team.” I say. “Alone.” the addition is just in case as I get to my feet and back up. I don’t want to turn my back to the client.

Chaisee, Rehema, and Sara all start to move at my cue.

Mx. Jones steps closer with jerky steps, following. “I will lead you to your accommodations now.”

“I would like to confer with my team before we go anywhere.” I don’t bare my teeth at the client but that’s a near thing. My tail flicks.

“I will lead you to your accommodations n-”

“Give us location. We need supplies. We will meet you there.” Rehema steps forward with a growl low in their voice and each word clipped with the order. Those pale green eyes carry command in them.

I notice that they’ve put themself between the client and the rest of us while staring at them. And I know I’m not the only one.

Mx. Jones pulls a card out of one pocket and writes a location on it. “Before sunset.” she says, pivots oddly, and walks away after making sure that Rehema takes the card.

The entire time Mx. Jones walks away, I track their movement and pace. I don’t like this. I do not like this. Maybe I’m too paranoid, maybe this is safer than my mind insists that it is.

“Trap.” Rehema rumbles after Mx. Jones has moved so far away that they’re a moving speck amongst the green. “Noomorphy.”

Sara whines and nods. “Our client probably isn’t our real client. That entire bit at the end stinks of noomorphy…”

“…I can look it up or someone can fill me in.” I say with a shrug. “I don’t know what that is.” In response to the shocked looks I get from all three of them, I put my hands up. “I only look into magic that I know I can safely use in combat. Primarily ice.”

Chaisee is the one who takes pity on me while Rehema paces back and forth. “It’s a subset of mind control.” she says and I immediately hate it. “It’s a particularly involved kind. Chances are that Mx. Jones was instructed to ignore any requests for information on the last High Mage and once the conversation touched on that – to avoid giving us any further answers and usher us on to a space they have pre-prepared.” She shoots a glare in the direction Mx. Jones went. “It’s very rare and extremely illegal – both in the LAGOONs and on the ground – magic.”

“That’s why Hema jumped in like they did.” Sara adds and signs a purr at Rehema. “They know how to handle folks who have been hit with that kind of magic. I just panic.”

I shake my head. “You asked a very good question. That doesn’t seem like panic to me. We all have our strengths.” I breathe and rotate the information in my head. It doesn’t take long to come to a conclusion. “I am not going to ask any of you to go near where an unknown individual has access to that magic.” I can’t protect them when I don’t know where the threat is coming from. And the whole idea of noomorphy and what it’s capable of now that I’m looking it up through my eye makes my fur prickle and refuse to lay flat. Absolutely not.

“It’s possible that this isn’t a trap aimed at us.” Chaisee says after several quiet moments. “This could just be an overabundance of caution on the part of our true client. Mx. Jones seemed normal – if jittery – up until we asked the wrong question. There are groups that use it for safety’s sake when dealing with strangers.”

That… is also a possibility. I nod in acknowledgement. “That’s why I wanted to confer with the three of you.” I say. “I know my own read of a situation can be quite… paranoid.”

Rehema gazes in the direction Mx. Jones left in, frowning. They don’t speak but this is one of the cases where they don’t need to. That lashing tail gives them away enough.

“What if…” Sara shifts in her seat. “What if we go to town and see if there’s more folks like Mx. Jones? And if we find even one more, we call it?” she looks quickly to each of us, one leg starting to bounce as anxiety worms its way into her body language.

“Risky, but it would give us intel.” Chaisee hums a short note. “We should establish a code phrase just in case, though we should also plan not to get caught alone with strangers so it hopefully won’t be needed.” she chews on her bottom lip. “Though if it really is noomorphy and we’re not off the mark, then someone could nab us while we’re together too.” her fingers tap on the decaying wood of the bench she’s sat at. “Even with whatever preparations I can think of, it’s dangerous. I don’t like it.” Chaisee sighs. “But having information to bring to Mao about this happening so close to where her LAGOON is can only help in the long run.” A beat, a flicker of a grin. “Or at least that’s what my inner Kali says.”

I can’t bite down the snorted laugh fast enough. It escapes and Chaisee proceeds to look insufferably smug. “Not far off the mark.” I say with an absent gesture before I turn my attention to Rehema.

“Even. One.” Rehema says, tone clipped even between the two words. I nod in acknowledgement and update my mental notes. Rehema does not like noomorphy. I don’t blame them now that I’ve learned about it, but their gaze is sharp and upper lip trying to rise with the words until they take a deep breath. That’s signs of something quite personal if my read is correct.

“Then it sounds like we’ve got a plan.” I say. “We set up a code phrase or multiple, plan not to get caught alone and watch out for one another. On top of that, we keep our eyes out for anyone else who seems to have been affected by the noomorphic mage and if we see even one more than our client, we call it and break for Mao’s LAGOON with everything we’ve learned up until that point.” I breathe. “Does that sound correct to everyone?”

Three nods, going around the group. No objections. Good. Us all being on the same page is going to be vital for this.

“On the plus side, going this way is still heading in the direction of Mao’s LAGOON – so it’ll be easier to get to.” I offer. I’m concerned about morale with this kind of magic on the loose, so I decide that I’ll do what I can to help Chaisee keep it on the higher end. “To that end, I’m going to share the path to Mao’s LAGOON that she sent for us to take with each of you over the Lodestar connection.” Maybe it’s an overabundance of caution that sets me into doing that immediately, but I think in this case I’d rather be too cautious than be dead or controlled.

Something tells me that the other three are all of the same mind. None of them disagree with the decision.

After that, we get moving. Silence claims the trek once all three of them have confirmed that they got the message. My orders from before still stand but this addition to the state of things adds a greater feeling of gravitas to it all. Previously those orders were just the product of a stressed and worried squad leader. Now our very lives might rely on them.

I consider trying to look into information again during the walk. Whatever I can brush up on can only be helpful in the long run (hah, Chaisee’s internal Kali is more accurate than I want to admit) – but there’s a nagging worry about some of what I want to look up. Vital information related to the mission has already once fed back the error code that worries me, and I’ve no way of knowing if that code pings anyone when it turns up. Is it safe to look up things from an adjacent point? Like…

Historical High Mages of the area hits me with the error code.

Trying to see if there are any missing reports does not, but as many of the cases are currently open and thus have restricted public information… there’s not a lot for me to snoop around about. I get confirmation that a number of folks have gone missing only to turn up almost exactly two weeks later, but still more haven’t turned up at all.

I look into the ones who have returned, trying to see if I can pick up on any kind of pattern or the like. When I can’t figure that out on my own, I send what I’ve found to the other three.

Their phones all chime at the same time and Chaisee barks a laugh. “Doing some digging while we walk, squad leader?” she asks, head tilted to one side as she speaks.

There’s no reason to keep that from them with the truth sitting in their inboxes, so I nod. “Yes. I can do this kind of multitasking, so if I keep the three of you in the loop of what I’ve found – it cuts down on what needs to be discovered later.”

Sara bobs her head in a little nod. “Makes sense. I’ll wait to give any of it a look until after we’ve gotten our first looks.” she beams at me suddenly. “Chaisee is right by the way, imagining a little you in my head does make it less scary to be tackling all of this!”

I fluster at that, gaping and lost in terms of what to even say in response. It doesn’t seem like Sara is expecting one after a moment, because she turns back away and keeps walking. Which is good because I still don’t have any idea of how to even respond to that. Little mes in their heads sounds strange, but if it helps…?

The forest gives way to the city. They’ve built it almost right up to the edge of the forest, so one moment we’re standing amongst trees and on a worn path and the next we’re stepping onto concrete and looking at buildings that are less than five feet away. It’s such a jarring transition that I stop short and Sara nearly bowls me over.

None of the other grounder cities I’ve ever been to have been built like this.

“Sub-mission begins now.” Chaisee announces, and it’s as good a reminder as any.

My part in this is something only I can do stealthily. I connect to the city feed as I hang back and let Chaisee take the lead on where we go. I’m braced for that strange error code to pop up again, but it doesn’t. The connection is a little slower than usual, but this is a huge festival time for the city so that’s actually to be expected.

I don’t dare search for vital information now that I’m connected to the city feed. It’s an unnecessary security risk.

But there are certain searches that are common to visitors that I can still glean information from. Like – where’s the best place to get a good look at the festivities? What is the single most Must See thing that happens during this time?

What places should tourists avoid?

Each of those will give me information in a subtle way that I can put together pictures based on. And given how common they are – they shouldn’t arouse any suspicion. It’s a delicate game, but it’s one that I’ve done numerous dry runs of in order to quell my worries.

And all of that, every single drop if it, every single thought, falls through my fingers like so much water when I spot a head of hair that commands my attention. Two shades of blue with gold streaks. A glimmer of white braids on one side.

There’s only one person with hair like that. And the name falls from my lips unbidden.

“Yilmaz?”