DG’s burgeoning leadership assembled on the bridge. Camo, assuming the role of the ship's cook, wore a white button-down lab coat. The Plateau Orcs, who were taking to their role as the ship's tailor with gusto, had offered to make him an apron, but his cutasilk coat and spotless enchant were too valuable to replace. Hecate and his two apprentice scratched their heads at Mitzy’s technical jargon. Draven was poking around a jar of spare parts.

  “Well, you see, it all started with my HPLC –

  Mitzy pointed at her head dish, “-- I hit it with a few pings – now I know what you’re thinking – would the sucrose particles, if any, really exist in such a device –”

  Blank stares, closed lips, and brows pinched in confusion.

  “-- They do not, so I moved onto mana particles like quarks, gluons, and the rest – the results were conclusive and not surprising for separatists…but what I found really interesting was the complex grey sucrose mana particles, which are technically not sucrose…but a kind of anti-”

  “What conclusion yee loonatic?” Barked Hecate.

  Mitzy scratched the back of her neck, “Conclusion…

  She snapped her claw, and her eye spiraled in reverse, “It's cursed.”

  “What?” Blurted Meen-Tra.

  “The weapon, it's cursed –

  She rapped on the surface of the repeater with her knuckles, “-- I don’t know why, maybe it's meant to fake us out… I’ve re-run the tests three separate times now to be sure.”

  Meen-Tra’s eyes narrowed. “Can you tell what the curse does?”

  Moving to place an intricate hexagonal bolt in their duster pocket – Draven froze as a crack split the air; the [Summoner] looked at the band of death glowing inches from his face, and put the part back where he found it.

  “I mean, it might fire a projectile, or it might not – and if it did, you're as likely to cause an aether refraction as hit your target…” Replied Mitzy, without looking at the duster-clad thief.

  All eyes fell to the repeater.

  Meen-Tra held up a fist, “Figure out a way to destroy that thing – I need to talk to Razer. Pat, can you display his room on the bridge?”

  “Already on it.”

  Every spec of muck was meticulously polished away, as Razer delicately placed what he now knew were sandals, and not slippers, under his bed…with a quiet reverence. He should have noticed that men and women wore the same footwear, unlike in Haveena, but it was a soldier's job to notice such things.

  It was a strange feeling in his chest – thinking about all the gifts and… kindness he’d received, and the more he thought about it, the more the feelings of warmth spread. Razer had never really owned much, just the clothes on his back, and they were just standard issue Haveena garb, no enchants, and of the cheapest System cloth. His repeater was the most valuable thing he owned, and he dared hope to get it back – Xylos would never return the weapon, were their roles reversed.

  His family worked their whole life so that he might afford one. Father and Mother died before their family's dream was realized. It was a small dream, but one shared by many a prole. To gain a combat class and defend the city against the rising tide of monsters, and to provide a better life for his folks, to whom he owed everything. But they were gone, and he was as useless as a flywheel on a pump.

  “They see you for what you are, Razer – a System defect…a mistake.”

  His shoulders slumped, and he crumpled to the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the wall. Why did this hurt so much?

  His door slid free.

  “R-razer…is everything ok?” Meen-Tra asked delicately, but he didn’t respond.

  Razer squeezed himself tight, “Sir, please. Maybe I have it back – please, it's all I have left of them.”

  “Left of who?” Asked Meen-Tra as she came around to seat herself on the floor in front of him.

  “My parents – proles still have both, we can’t afford a System birth. They meant everything to me, even my mom, and I just want to hold the item again – before I’m reclaimed and join them in System.”

  He lifted his chin and peered into Meen-Tra’s soul with two round watery orbs.

  “Razer – I don’t have an idea what you're talking about…”

  He nodded and sniffled, resting his head back on his knees, “I understand.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She pushed herself to her feet, “I’ll be right back, ok, just sit tight.”

  Razer’s sobs echoed as the door shut behind her.

  As she stepped off the elevator onto the bridge, those gathered still watched Razer; he sat huddled on the floor of his room, just where she’d left him.

  As the doors sealed shut behind her, all eyes turned in her direction. She moved past the round table, taking up a position with her fists behind her back as she looked out over the Mire. Those assembled took their seats.

  “Mitzy, do you have any idea what he’s talking about – reclamation in System…is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

  Pigtails and a dish poked up over the top of the table, before Mitzy could answer, DG lowered a pair of mechanical arms from the ceiling, and like the shell game of a street performer, switched out her chair for a veritable throne of polished wood, the colour of dark walnut, complete with booster seat, used gumball disposal, and boot hook. From one machine to another (at least by half), Mitzy was calm and let DG position her, as if all this were the most natural thing in the world.

  “They worship the System as a god…separatists believe we are in heaven. Fight, level, and search for their lost city. They are single-minded in that search –

  She muttered under her breath, “-- I should know.”

  Meen-Tra set her jaw as she ran a finger along the top of her titan mark, “I have known a world of peace and safety. I have not seen the horrors of war, nor have I felt them. Some remember the Beast Wars – I am not one of them. I was too young, and even Garzha was only new in her class at the end. Maybe you have heard a story or two – an elder deep in their cups…I have never understood how so many could take up arms and take the life of a neighbor, for we are all born under a titan's bough. Garzha…she tried to explain it to me, but words can’t express what we’ve seen here today. What was done to this…manling, to twist his heart and mind so…that his strongest ancestral tie is a weapon of war – a cursed weapon – whether it was made that way on purpose…or –

  Meen-Tra turned to face them, “-- We are dealing with something worse than a monster. The blood-fly swarms, drains, and kills you – and it does so without reservation. But it does so to feed itself, to reproduce itself, to sustain the hive and queen. It has a purpose; it may not care about your life, but it does not take it out of malice or for levels. Razer is a broken orc, carrying around a weapon capable of unravelling the very aether that powers us – and he, like a gruntling…is innocent. So what must we do? Butcher the innocent? How many more like Razer are among the separatists? Can we save those that wish to be saved…what are we saving them from – we have no idea – Mitzy has warned us…but is that enough?”

  Meen-Tra gripped the edge of the table and, one at a time, she leveled her eyes at each: Hecate, Mog, Nosh, Draven, Mitzy, and even Pat in their viewscreen.

  “We are at war – make no mistake about it. Running and hiding – we will do that for as many as we can…to that end, DG4 must be kept safe at all costs. According to Pat, they’re at one percent passenger capacity. But DG’s strength isn’t as a permanent residence, it's as a shuttle. There is no end to the titan-tops to hide in, and DG can reach them all without setting a foot on bog.

  Shoving off, Meen-Tra began to pace, “This is the plan. From now on out, DG does not leave the safety of the upper canopy. Scouts will be set up and will report directly to Pat, and they will ensure DG’s safety at all times. Hecate will train the ship's security in anti-boarding actions and specialized aerial combat – he’ll be in charge of the scouts as well. Our most important weapon is Renddit, as stupid as that sounds. This is going to be a war of ideas; separatists will try to convince us that the dungeon ceiling is the sky – that up is down, and left is right. We will not let that happen, but to do that, someone is going to have to embed themselves within Murkspire – to bear witness and to resist the destruction of our world.”

  “For Mecha and Lecka!” Mitzy’s light-knife cracked the air as she leapt onto the table, it was ringed by one of Draven’s smoky apparitions, before breaking apart – Mitzy’s eyes narrowed – her thunder stolen.

  Meen-Tra pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have a broken gruntling to deal with, and you all have plans to make. Me and Draven will be infiltrating Murkspire – Mitzy too as her skills and size will be invaluable to us – not to mention her knowledge of separatists…the rest of you will be staying on the ship, and scouting for shelters in the upper boughs starting to the South, we’ll need outposts – which will be made alot easier by our communications networks – both party chat and Renddit. Dismissed, we’ll meet back here after dinner for a final discussion.”

  He looked up when she entered, a hopeful expression on his face, his eyes flicked to her empty fists, before his head dropped, and he shuddered – stifling a sob.

  She sat on his bed and patted the space next to her. “Razer, come here, take a seat, I want to talk to you, this is important.”

  The bed creaked beneath their combined weight as he plopped himself down unceremoniously. He stared at his feet.

  “Razer, what did you mean by reclamation?” Meen-Tra asked. There were many things she didn’t understand about what he’d said, but this was the most striking.

  “I’m out of funds, and I can no longer afford the item rental. So my resources will be reclaimed by System for the sin of financial delinquency.” A sob racked his body.

  Meen-Tra rubbed his back, “It's ok, let it out. You’re going to be ok – I promise.”

  He folded, burying his face in her hair, as the dam broke – and Razer cried, for the first time, since the day he watched his parents drained like water flasks. They’d been forestalling their own rental agreements to help him save up for his repeater – without telling him, he never would have agreed.

  “Razer, why would you want it back – if it was going to kill you?”

  He sniffled, and Meen-Tra tried not to think about what the fluids were going to do to her split ends.

  He sat up straight and reached back to pull his hood around to his face, and blew his nose. He looked at the hood in his hands, “This is a strange helmet.”

  “It's a hood, Razer, and you're changing the subject.”

  “No I’m not…I’m sorry. System knows all, and it will take me with or without it. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Meen-Tra stood up, “Take my fist, Razer, you’re coming with me. I have a job for you.”

  He looked up, his eyes wide in surprise, and she pushed her fist toward him, “Come on, up you go. This is the first day of the rest of your life, our resident mecha-gnome will undo the curse – you can count on it.”

  He locked fists with her, “Really, how?”

  She foisted him up, shrugging her shoulders, “With gumballs and pink. Don’t worry about it – you have bigger concerns. I’m taking you to Camo, our apothecary and cook.”

  “Camo…?” He wondered aloud.

  As she turned to leave, Meen-Tra looked over her shoulder, “And Razer –”

  “Sir.” He stood at attention.

  “Camo is a frogkin, and not a monster.”

  Razer gulped, and Meen-Tra sighed.