Battlefield Regulation 9 – Always Assume There is More Going On Than Clients Tell You

Despite everything I feared as sleep finally took me, we wake in the very spaces we fell asleep in. Maybe Chaisee has the right of it in naming McCrae our hunter and pointing out that we might not need to worry anymore. I’m still unable to let down my guard even buffered by that very thought. Everything is easily explainable; there are neat little boxes of information that everything fits into and in which we are safe.

…I do a visual sweep of the main room before I realize I’m doing it. Cataloguing the things I noticed last night and checking them against their current states. The one broken bit of blinds, the askew couch, the bags in the garbage from the supply run we did. Everything is as it was last night. As it should be. I take a slow, deep breath and tell myself that this means everything is fine.

Rehema is padding out into the main room at the same time as I am. They make the purr gesture at me as soon as they spot me, lazy fingers tracing up and down the line of their throat. I still can’t return it. I blink in response and cast about for some kind of explanation or excuse. Rehema flicks their tail and meanders over to the kitchen, already reaching to pull out mugs. “Coffee? Tea?” their voice is warm honey.

“Coffee.” I say, rolling my shoulders as I stretch. I hadn’t even reached that part of my morning considerations yet and here’s Rehema operating with the half lidded eyes I associate with the running joke of ‘no talkie before coffee’. Yilmaz always said I got the same way sometimes, though I could never see it in the mirror when I tried to look. I stretch my tail and my toes and consider the kitchen as I join Rehema in it. “We got eggs last night. So how do you like yours?”

“Scrambled.” Rehema murmurs. I feel their tail briefly tangle with mine. “Chaisee and Sara too.” The sound of the coffee maker starting up fills the silence that follows. I leave my tail where Rehema has half flopped theirs over it.

That makes things easier. “Thank you.” I say, ducking to pull out the pan and eggs. The silence is… warm. I’m focused on cracking and cooking the eggs. Rehema is getting morning drinks. It’s the warm kind of silence that always makes me feel like I don’t belong. The kind that I always interrupted with Yilmaz, clamoring for a spar because I knew where I stood there. Here… Rehema is passively affectionate. The purr gestures and the flopped tail, both well within the boundaries I’ve set.

I think back to my hazy dream. I’d- most of the time I immediately discount my dreams and shove them away, but I’d spent a good ten minutes this morning trying to cling to the last vestiges of it. Yilmaz had been with us, and we’d all been doing this warm kind of thing, and there’d been this feeling like I knew that nothing was about to go wrong. We’d handled everything. We were good. We had Roles.

Nothing like the nightmare of our shared childhood could happen again.

And then I’d woken up, and that relief of being where I fell asleep ran face first into my desire to cling to the warmth of that dream. To consider going back to sleep for just a few minutes more of it. This warmth makes me think of that, and a shot of guilt with no source I can identify shoots through me.

Chaisee and Sara are summoned by the smell of eggs and coffee at this point, meandering into the main room at the same time. Sara’s mouth falls open.

“Wait. You cook?” Sara sounds like I just told her that the LAGOONs can’t float.

I blink at the question, plating the eggs. “It’s a good idea for all Riptide Agents and hopefuls to have at least one food they’re good at cooking.” I say, taking the out away from my own thoughts and that nameless guilt. “Premade foods are good but they don’t offer the same morale boost that homemade cooking can.” …which is almost word for word one of the regulations I have memorized. I duck my head. It’s not… that’s not what I mean. I try again. “We’re a team.” which is equally unhelpful, but at the very least it isn’t another regulation. That counts for something.

Chaisee laughs. “We get it Kali, don’t worry. You wanted to make sure we knew you were thinking of us. Even before coffee.” she says, waving one hand at the coffeemaker. “We appreciate it, even if you did just fall back on regulations when you didn’t know what else to say.” her tone is all teasing, paired with the way her eyes crinkle and lips quirk. “Solitary creatures, huh?”

I huff and duck my head. She’s teasing. This is a good sign. Still- “I just want to make sure that we’re all well fed for the meeting with the client.” deflection, sure, but a smile tugs at my lips against my will.

Chaisee lets out this quick laugh. “Then move over, I’ll make us the next bit to go with the eggs. Sara dear, could you see if there’s a table or something close enough for us to use?”

Sara fires off a quick two fingered salute, complete with a muffled laugh. She’s grinning so wide that I can see it even when her back is turned.

This is… nice. Makes me feel guilty and like I don’t belong, still, but I can acknowledge the niceness of it. Scrambled eggs are one of the only things I know how to make consistently so I’m also glad that Chaisee can pick up my slack. Cooking in general is one of those skills I set aside while striving to pass the Riptide Exams. Yilmaz had it handled, so I told myself I’d learn at least enough to surprise him after we both passed.

After we both passed.

I almost burn the eggs, tugged into an eddy of grief and hurt that I wasn’t prepared for. I set the portion that takes it the worst aside for myself. He’s alive, and I try to take solace in that knowledge. More than one of us saw him, even if we lost track of him. Even if what we need to do winds up being going to Mao’s LAGOON and regrouping, we know he’s alive. Or at least was as recently as yesterday. That’s a thought to tuck away for another time.

We eat breakfast together and wake the rest of the way up at our own paces. No one is particularly talkative right now and I absently wonder if that’s because no one is awake yet or if it’s because they’re still not used to me (nor I, them) in the mornings. Either way it goes, the morning will pass in whatever way it pleases. Even if our client turns up to declare that the information and meeting are to happen right this instant, I have no desire to make folks rush through their food. That’s rude and even I know that much.

Also probably rude? Doing a visual check over each of them without so much as asking. I tell myself that it’s less a symptom of worry and more the concern of a leader. I slept poorly so looking for signs that any of my squad did the same is just a matter of course. Chaisee’s mohawk is tilting concerningly to one side; even as I watch she lifts one hand to start fussing with her hair while shoving a forkful of greens in her mouth. Hema looks as awake as I feel – more now than earlier, with coffee in our systems. Sara looks… normal? At least I think she looks normal. Not a bad sweep assessment. Good, too, because I suspect we’re going to have another long day ahead of us.

Just a feeling.

The knock on the door at the turn of the hour is so stunningly punctual that I wonder, as I get to my feet, if Mx. Jones stood outside the door watching the seconds tick down so that they could time it. We’ve almost all finished eating; I have the most left at about a fifth of my plate so I suppose that’s good enough to at least let Mx. Jones in.

“Good morning.” I say as I open the door. I’ve got that plastic smile on my face and magic resting in my fingertips just in case.

“Morning.” Mx. Jones has deep bags under their eyes. They try to muster up a smile in response to mine and fail, shuffling from one foot to the other. “Are you prepared to receive more information now?”

The words aren’t carefully blank like almost every other time they’ve spoken. There’s desperation and urgency clipping off the edge of the words, a little lean forward like they want the secrecy of our suite sooner rather than later. Something’s up. I glance back at my squad and get affirmative reactions as well as visual confirmation that Rehema has noticed something as well, so I give Mx. Jones a nod. “We’re ready for you.” I step aside.

Mx. Jones hesitates, staring at the boundary into the suite, and then they take a deep breath and stride forward. The confidence leaves them a few steps later; they stagger to the nearest couch and collapse into it.

I shut the door behind them and connect my eye to the hotel’s cameras. More of them give me that error message than last night. I’m still able to get a few of the most important ones – the hallway outside of our suite, the one pointed at the elevator, a few of those that survey the lobby on the ground level. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary at a glance, but this isn’t the time for me to get completely distracted in what I’m thinking and utterly forget what’s in front of me. “So, information.” I prompt.

Mx. Jones lets out what I can only describe as a nervous titter. “I don’t- I don’t have long.” they say, staring at own folded hands. They swallow. “Before-” a flinch. “You have to get out of town and do it quickly. I- our plot was discovered and she’s got all of us under control now. Maybe she had some of us from the very beginning, I can’t remember…” now they look up, gaze darting between each of our faces. “Please. Please I don’t want to be responsible for any more death.”

A reasonable request. This changes things and has me re-evaluating my assessment of the High Mage we’re supposed to be targeting. Could she be the one behind this?

“So you’re not under control right now?” Chaisee asks. She stands and approaches, clubbed tail held at the ready and a hard look in her eyes.

“No.” Mx. Jones shakes their head frantically. “I have maybe ten minutes-”

“So you came to warn us instead of trying to run?” Chaisee cuts them off, leaning over the couch. “Do you know anything about the sigils and missing people?” she’s digging for information while Rehema bolts off towards the rooms. Sara checks her phone and then does the same in the other direction. What have they noticed?

With how limited the time that Mx. Jones apparently has is, I don’t step in. I stay silent, I let my eye record what I see and hear in front of me. Whatever Rehema and Sara are up to, they didn’t include me in those plans so I have to assume that what’s wanted most is for me to be right here. I take the time to go over what we know and plan instead while listening to the conversation in front of me.

“I don’t know anything about the sigils, just that she plans for them to be done before the end of the month. And- and I had to come warn you nice folks. It’s the right thing to do.”

“The missing people?”

“Mostly folks who don’t agree with the new High Mage. I expected to go missing too but something… I don’t remember why I’m not.”

There’s a thought, itching at the corner of my mind. A thought that very well might be yet more paranoia and yet…

Movement just beyond the single broken blind catches my attention. I drift closer to it, brows furrowing. There’s a scent coming in on the breeze. Sweet and… silky? Not quite flowery but- it latches on to a memory–

I am eight years old and I have made a terrible discovery. None of the other kids in the orphanage are willing to believe me, but he is. At this time, he goes by his first name – Yilmaz is his last name and he’ll be going by it when I meet him years after this moment.

But right now he’s the only one willing to believe me as I explain that I saw the workers of the orphanage cutting up one of the other kids. The kid we were told two days ago was adopted. Big, shiny butcher knives and bone that split easily and I ran, then, before I saw what happened next. But out of everyone there, Yilmaz was my friend.

We’d gone together to check it out, sneaky and serious in a way that most children our ages never worried about. The two of us had waited for there to be another adoption, so we could catch them in the act.

In the act of eating a kid we’d just told to come back and visit us sometime with their new parents. I’d frozen, eyes wide, and the smell had drifted into my nose. All I remember of the next moments were the smell and the blood – either Yilmaz or I killed those workers, and neither of us could ever remember which did it. There’d been ice and magma all over the room.

We’d been separated after that – Yilmaz stubbornly taking responsibility for the marks on his record and insisting that I’d just been passing by, but that smell—

I don’t know how long ago I started backing away from the window, but I feel my knees knock into one of the couches. I check the cameras, half aware of the way my breathing has picked up. I’ve lost a few of them in the time I was stuck in the memory – now giving me the same mixed error that’s been plaguing me – but the rest show nothing noteworthy. Maybe all the anxiety is playing havoc on my mind. Maybe the dream is adding to it more than anything else.

…I wish Yilmaz were here. I miss the comfort of standing side by side with the one person I could always count on to keep up with me. I miss the confidence that I gained by having my rival near. I miss-

A thought crystalizes as I take in the next thing Mx. Jones says.

“All I know is that she wants Kukali specifically, and I don’t know why or what for.”

“How long ago did you realize you were free of her control?” I ask, voice low and urgent. By now Sara and Rehema have come back out of the rooms behind me. I don’t turn around to face them yet, focused on Mx. Jones.

“Um… maybe half an hour?” Mx. Jones says. “I woke up and realized that she wasn’t controlling me and ran here. It took a while but I don’t know what resources she has.”

“Risky.” Rehema’s tone is quiet.

“So we’re going to Mmmmmaybe that other LAGOON, right?” Sara asks, shifting sideways from saying Mao’s LAGOON.

“Yeah.” Chaisee says. “I’m wondering if it’s a good idea to take Mx. Jones here. If we can keep you free of the noomorphy then maybe…”

She says something else. Continues the statement. I know she does. But the scent has just gotten so thick that it’s all I can smell and the rest of that thought comes out of my mouth in a bark.

“Get away from the window!”

Rehema and Sara are near the window, though even I move further away from it as I should. For a heartbeat nothing at all happens. I get confused looks even as I see Rehema clock a scent that makes their brows furrow. I don’t want to explain the scent to Rehema, it’s a no man’s land of a topic even with Yilmaz.

“Is that… gas…?” Sara tilts her head to one side, but she and Rehema are listening at least – backing away from the window with our bundles of bags in hand.

The window implodes, shooting glass through the room. My reflexes are just a hair too slow – the ice barrier is up seconds after it would have been able to keep us from getting cut up. Not even Mx. Jones is spared, though a quick sweep reveals that we’re all still alive despite the brand new lacerations.

Climbing in through the window through bits of broken blinds is a lie. I ignore my own hallucination and focus on the parts I can control, like double checking Rehema’s and Sara’s visual status since the two of them were the closest to the window.

“Thank you for doing precisely what my mistress said you would.” the voice is right but the tone is wrong. The tone is all jovial with an undercurrent of malice. It’s wrong.

What a silly thing for my mind to mess up. See, it can’t be who it looks like. If it is, then this is a nightmare. Did I fall asleep at the table? I’d had trouble sleeping but I hadn’t thought it would affect me. Then again, I was running on how many too long days? It had to catch up to- blade. There’s warm metal under my chin. Not tilting my head up or pressing any harder than is needed to give my mind a space to ground on.

That detail isn’t wrong.

I swallow on purpose; feel the blade’s tip against my neck. A sinking realization takes me as I meet the odd eyes in front of me. I can hear the other three reacting, which means this is real. This is- he’s panting slightly, eyes wide, tail still. “You-” I start. My voice comes out like a croak and I fall silent. I don’t even know what to say. I have forgotten – all at once – every word I have ever known.

“The offer is thus,” he says. Another tick in wrong – Yilmaz doesn’t use the word thus. But. But here he is, using it. “My mistress greatly desires a matched set. So you come with me and everyone else here gets to go free.” his left eye twitches. His grin twitches. “Even the little traitor.” an airy wave at Mx. Jones. “As thanks for getting you here.”

Here. In the suite? Mx. Jones has scampered for the door, tugging on it frantically and whimpering at the fact that they don’t move. The rest of the cameras I had connections to fire the same error message and disconnect me, leaving me standing there with no eyes on the outside. Something prickles at the corner of my good eye; an itch starts up at the corner of the eye with the prosthetic. Tears? Why? I don’t- I don’t understand. “What?” I don’t mean to speak aloud.

Yilmaz’s smile is a familiar, sharp thing. His eyes are still too wide. “She’ll fix it.” he says as he steps forward, careful with the blade touching my skin even as he ignores the glass crunching under his feet. “My mistress will make it right. We won’t be ignored anymore.”

Mx. Jones tugs on the doors again to no avail. Chaisee has moved to try and help her. My awareness of these things is distant, like every single part of me wants to pay attention only to Yilmaz.

“I have a Role, now, Kali.” there’s a fervor in his words and his tail has started to wag. “I’m a Knight!”

We’d both settled on that as the role we wanted the most, when we were kids. I’m glad for him, even as I’m a little jealous. A check on the feed confirms it. A full fledged Knight..

“My mistress swore for me that she can get you one too.” he continues, dropping the blade from where it was still resting against my flesh. “We can finally be Knights together, Kali.” the altered nickname rubs against my fur wrong, but I can see some reasoning in not wanting Mx. Jones to know the nickname he actually uses for me. “Forget Riptide – that place is corrupt. It should be destroyed.” a beat, a beatific smile that looks wrong on his face. “Fire and Ice, we can make it go away. No more McCrae, no more of the Duce.”

“Yilmaz?” Sara’s voice is quiet and hesitant but it takes his attention off of me.

I make myself back up. I don’t want to. Doesn’t it sound nice? No longer being ignored. Being Knights together with the one person who understands me the most, no longer having to grasp for understanding out of folks I don’t know well. That was the real dream, the one that Riptide had been a stepping stone to. Getting a Role without having to rely on Riptide with what I know now…? I want to agree.

“Oh!” Yilmaz genuinely seems to have only just really noticed the three of them. He shakes his head sharply, then speaks. “Of course if you three also want to come, I’m certain my mistress will allow it. You’re already here, after all! She may not have roles for you but-”

“Not. Yilmaz.” Rehema snarls the words, cutting him off. Their fur is sticking up.

I immediately want to point out that yes, this is Yilmaz. His speech is a little strange, but having a Role can do that, sometimes, if it’s strong enough. His eyes are wide and fever-bright but it’s early in the morning and he has never been a morning person.

“No, no, you see – my mistress made it all better!” Yilmaz gestures at himself with one hand. “She even fixed my body so I don’t need surgery anymore!”

Fixed his body? Then she- of course, the LAGOON had been holding the surgery he desired over his head until he made Riptide. To ‘encourage’ him, they’d said. His mistress sounds very generous. I swallow and find my words stuck behind a lump in my throat. My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest and take the wetness gathering in my eyes with it. I wet my lips again.

It’s tempting.

I made Riptide! And on the day I made it found that our stepping stone dream was now impossible. Every single thing has gone wrong since then. The attacks, the odd metal bits on the fiends that I still don’t know much about, this whole business with sigils and missing people and none of that matters because Yilmaz is here. Alive. Asking for me to leave and join him with this mistress that has made him so excited.

“That’s great but you don’t sound like yourself.” Chaisee says. She’s between Yilmaz and the others and giving me a look that has no meaning.

Rehema growls. Their tail thrashes and they sign at me. “Safe. Here.” and then repeat the sign when I don’t move.

I blink. Alarm bubbles up as I shift my stance and catch that scent full force in my nose once more. That scent has always been associated with danger. Why is it here? I’m so baffled by the reminder and the scent that I respond aloud. “Yilmaz isn’t a danger to us. We were looking for him.”

Have they forgotten? I could never but perhaps normal folks with normal friends could. Is that what it means, to be a normal person with more than one friend? Forgetting that you were looking for one of them?

“Kali, you need to get away from him.” Chaisee says. “This is about more than just him being missing now.”

“I am standing right here.” Yilmaz points out. And that’s- that’s normal.

More than just- Ah. That’s right. “You three can handle the situation with Mx. Jones and the missing people then.”