This time around your reception at the Empire bar/ready room is considerably warmer. People barely glance your way before returning to their conversations. There are some muttered comments you can't make out, though, and scattered laughter. Mike must have been talking behind your back.
You ignore the giggly racists and head over to the bar, where the bartender is waving to you.
"You're meant to be on outer patrol with Rune tonight, but she's running late," he says. "Have one on the house while you wait."
He hands you a bottle of coke sporting what would, in any other circumstance, be an oversized novelty straw. Here and now it's an ingenious device allowing you to drink without adjusting your full-face mask. You take a seat and look around while you sip.
You don't spot Mike or his crew anywhere, they either aren't working tonight, or have already left on patrol. Most of the clientele is engaged in a lively discussion about the relative merits of different races (of course!), but there are two guys sitting off by themselves, reading. As an old introverted bookworm yourself (before you triggered and became too busy to indulge), you can't help but snoop take an interest.
Oh, it's Mein Kampf (of course!). The guy notices you looking, and responds by smiling and holding up the book so you can see it better. Which lets you notice that he's reading it in the original German. That's some major signaling right there. He might as well have brought a neon sign saying 'look at my giant brain'.
The other reader, by contrast, has a copy of Cape Glamour Weekly, featuring Glory Girl and her boyfriend on the cover. Really? Isn't that a bit... vapid and girly? And you're saying that as a fifteen year old girl. Is he mocking Mr Big Brain? Is it his job to scour the gossip rags for valuable cape intel? Or perhaps he's counter signaling his big balls? 'I'm so manly that not even this magazine can detract from it'?
You shake your head and turn your attention to the main discussion. Picking up on the more esoteric points of white supremacy can only improve your cover. Currently they seem to be debating whether Germans are superior to Scandinavians.
"One word: Vikings," says a man you suspect might have some Scandinavian ancestry.
"Sure they were Vikings back then, but nowadays they're a bunch of kebab-loving pansies," is the response, surely coming from a completely impartial fellow with no German blood whatsoever.
"Yeah? Because Germany definitely isn't a giant self-loathing mess right now."
"Fuck you, you try having the entire jew-controlled world gang up on you and conquer you! Twice!" the German counters. "You're not even a real Swede, you're like a quarter Irish. Everyone knows Irishmen are the niggers of white people."
"Look at this guy, thinking the Irish are even white," some other, presumably non-Irish person says. "You need to get woke on the Irish Question, bro."
"Actually," Big Brain interjects, looking up from his book, "the naturalization act of 1790 restricted citizenship to 'white persons of good character', and Irishmen were able to become citizens. Q.E.D."
"Yeah, well, people where primitive and ignorant back then," Not-Irish counters. "Science wasn't very advanced. We've since become more enlightened and realized the truth about potato niggers."
"Who even cares about the Irish?" another man asks. "At least they're not Italians!"
"True, true."
"I hate those swarthy Mafia faggots."
"Fucking spaghetti niggers."
"No one thinks Italians are white."
At least one of the people nodding along to these pronouncements, you can't help but notice, is clearly Italian. The person next to him puts a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry Johnny," he says solemnly. "You can't be in our gang anymore. Whites only."
Johnny accepts this pronouncement with good cheer. "Alright," he says. "Will someone buy me one last beer before I go join the Merchants?" This prompts three separate people to order him a beer, and several more to laugh and slap him on the back.
You can't help but feel a certain... schoolmarmish disapproval. These are the foot soldiers of a self-styled nazi regime. Their racism is the single most important aspect of their worldview and how it shapes their lives! Shouldn't they be taking it at least somewhat seriously?
A wizard walks into a bar. That is, Rune finally appears. Her costume is a green robe and cowl embroidered with golden runes, see. As you get up to meet her the discussion around you returns to the Germans vs Scandinavians debate, the spaghetti nigger question having been resolved to everyone's satisfaction.
"Sorry I'm late," she says. "Didn't mean to leave you stranded with these insufferable nerds." She raises her voice at the last part, to make sure the nerds in question overhear. They respond with laughter, blown kisses and calls of "Love you too, Rune!"
As the door swings shut behind you, you just barely make out someone asserting "Anglos are the jews of white people!"
Looks like Rune parked her favorite rock outside. Seriously. According to her wiki article she usually makes do with urban debris, like chunks of concrete, dumpsters and wrecked cars. But this is unmistakably a naturally-occurring rock, maybe 20 feet in diameter, mostly flat but with several indentations forming rough seats. Some of the indentations contain smaller rocks, presumably ammunition. Apparently she decided to bring out the limousine of telekinetic conveyances today. You're flattered.
You're also delighted. The rock is thrumming with power to your sorcerer's sight, with a tether leading back to Rune. She'll be using her power throughout the night, and she's inviting you onto her rock just like that. You can just sit there and study her to your heart's content. You could not ask for a more perfect evening.
But, the idea occurs to you, you could make it more perfect. When the rock clears the roof of the bar you step off and call forth your wolf. Your time with Rachel made you develop a taste for rooftop monster rides, and you haven't had a chance to indulge since you parted ways.
"What are you- oh. You wanna show off too?" You get the distinct impression that Rune is grinning behind her mask. "Try to keep up!"
---
You did not think this through. Oh, Fenrir can leap between rooftops easily enough, as long as they are roughly the same height. Rachel's monsters have the unnatural muscle density and elongated claws to let them climb up the side of a building, but Fenrir is just a really big wolf. And wolves? Not nature's finest climbers even without the square-cube law kicking in them in nuts.
What frequently ends up happening is that you have to call for Rune to double back and help you out. Which she does without complaint. Oh, she doesn't complain.
"Of course, dear," she chirps. "Anything to help a colleague out."
"This rock sure is comfy. And convenient!"
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather ride with me? It's no trouble, there's plenty of space."
That condescending faux helpfulness is exactly like some of the girls in your class. So much for the Empire being nicer than Winslow. But no matter what, you're not going to give in and accept her offer. Fuck her and the rock she rode in on. You're committed now, and admitting that you made a mistake would be even worse than the repeated humiliation of asking for help.
Oh, this time around she spotted an upcoming problem spot on her own and stopped in front of the taller building to wait for you. How gracious of her. How helpful. You silently grind your teeth as Fenrir once more steps out onto the flying rock.
"Going up?" Rune asks innocently. God you want to grind this bitch into paste. As an added insult, her power is super difficult to understand. Which means you're going to have to put up with her for a good, long time. Really, world? Lifting a rock is more complicated than extracting the soul price from a human brain?
And! And, just like Madison, Rune's own soul price is a good life well lived, so you can't even use Loyalty to make her behave.
No, she isn't secretly Madison. Madison doesn't have powers. Their soul prices are subtly different too:
Rune wants to find a man worthy of her.
Unlike Madison, Rune is sufficiently secure in her own sexual market value that her soul doesn't even bother to specify that he should reciprocate her feelings. Of course he'll be taken with her and they'll live happily ever after. Not even worth mentioning.
Bitch.
---
An indeterminate time of you steeping in a bath of rage and embarrassment later, Rune gets a phone call. She brings her rock to a stop, and you ride up next to her to listen in.
"Rune."
...
"On his own? Is he high? Forget I said that. Where?"
...
"On it."
She turns to you. "Mush has been spotted approaching our territory. We're going to explain to him why that's a bad idea."
"On his own?" you echo her earlier incredulity.
"I know right? Fucking Merchants." She shakes her head. "Hop on. For real this time, we don't have time to fuck around."
The rock doesn't even quiver as Fenrir steps on. Rune sets off back the way you came, considerably faster than she'd been going before.
You spot Mush from several blocks away, a humanoid mass of garbage standing head and shoulders above the surrounding buildings. They are only three stories tall around here, but still. You did not think he could get that big.
"Fuck me," Rune says. "He must have spent all day collecting that shit."
When you get close, she swoops closer to the roof and slows down. "Get off," she says. "I'm going to have to hit him with our ride."
Fenrir jumps off, and you spur him on towards your foe. Not that you have any idea what you should do once you arrive, but it seems to be what's expected of you. This is exactly what you meant when you asked Lisa about cape fights. Maybe you can distract him while Rune throws rocks? At least the buildings here are all uniform height, so you'll be able to maneuver without trouble.
The rock you just vacated goes flying past you to strike Mush in the head. It sends garbage flying every which way, but doesn't impair him at all.
Unsurprising. Through sorcerer's sight you see thin tendrils of his power all throughout the mass, radiating like veins from a glowing centre just below where the heart would be on a human. That must be where his actual body is located. Oh yeah, you can help by pointing that out.
"The head is a decoy!" you shout. "Go for centre mass! No, not you! Stop! Shit!"
You flatten yourself against Fenrir's back and hold on tight as your idiot steed launches himself off the edge of the roof, going straight for the glowing weak point. He has enough inertia to plow right through the mass of garbage and out the other side.
On one hand, that probably just ended the fight in a single blow. On the other, you're currently falling off a three-story building amidst several tons of garbage.
Fenrir hits the ground with a loud whuff as all the air is forcibly propelled from his lungs. The fact that he doesn't splatter is mildly astonishing, but you don't have the capacity to think about that right now. Whatever bullshit magic makes him so comfortable to ride is not nearly strong enough to handle this. Speaking of physics kicking you in the nuts...
"Gah. Fuck," you summarize as you tumble off his back. Another spike of pain shoots through you as you hit the ground. You think you broke your butt. Uh, pelvic fracture? You'll just lie here for a while.
At least the leap carried you clear of most of the garbage, which ended up in a giant pile behind you. Someone should go over there and try to dig Mush out, see if he survived. He- oh, gross. Those weren't tendrils of power you saw, those were actual tendrils of Mush's flesh. With the golem collapsed they are exposed, like someone dug up a disgusting alien root system. The way they're still twitching at least indicates that you didn't kill him, but it also makes you want to puke.
The smell isn't helping either.
Rune returns to ground level in a more sensible manner, clinging to the largest of her 'ammunition' rocks. She's laughing and whooping as she lands next to you.
"That was awesome!" she exclaims.
"That was the worst," you correct her. Things are really starting to hurt, now that the adrenaline is wearing off.
"What are you talking about? You- oh hey." She interrupts herself when she sees Victor come flying down, carrying Othala. "You guys missed the party. Did you know New Girl here is a stone cold badass?"
"Are you alright?" Othala asks. "We saw you jump off the roof."
"No I'm not fucking alright." You swat Fenrir's nose away when he tries to nuzzle you. "If this retard had jumped from any higher up, I'd have needed a gynecologist to recover his vertebrae."
Victor seems to be choking on something, while Rune almost falls over laughing. Othala, thankfully, just walks over and grants you regeneration. At least one person here is competent (it's not you).
"Rune," Victor says, "can you dig Mush out?"
"Nah, my power can't get a grip on this shit. Too mushy." Victor just rolls his eyes at this attempted witticism. "You go ahead. Our girl talk is clearly too spicy for your sensitive manly ears anyway."
Victor sighs. "Fine. You call this in. Othala? Some super strength would be lovely, once you're done with Low Key."
"Of course, love."
Victor goes off to root through the garbage. You just lie around waiting for the pain to go away. At least Hookwolf trained you to deal with this situation, even if nothing else stuck. Silver linings.
Rune, meanwhile, has turned her attention to Fenrir: "Don't listen to that meanie, you did great. You're not retarded, you're the best wolf ever. ...Sorry, no belly rubs until you take a bath."
Presently you feel better, and Othala leaves to assist her beau.
"Hey," Rune says as she helps you to your feet. "Sorry about being such a bitch earlier. Seriously. If this is what comes of you riding around the rooftops, I'll be your elevator any day."
You look at her suspiciously. She sounds sincere. And not having every patrol suck for weeks on end until you finally steal her power would be nice. "Seriously," she repeats. You nod.
"Weren't you supposed to call this in?" you ask her.
"Oh yeah!" She brings out her phone, dials.
"Rune here. Mush is down, you guys can go back to bed."
...
"Yeah, piece of cake. New Girl took him out just like that. Pow! Oh hey, Victor just dug him out. He looks gross as fuck, let me tell you."
...
"Really? OK."
She puts the phone away. She wasn't kidding. While Mush's tendrils (eugh) have mostly retracted by now, that's emphasis on mostly. He looks like a plate of spaghetti, with extra ketchup. While Rune was talking, Othala briefly touched Mush, then touched Victor again. Carefully calibrated regeneration, you figure. Enough to stabilize him, not enough to wake him up.
"Guys, we got Wards incoming," Rune says. "Ops says to clear out and leave Mush for them to collect."
"Wards?" you say. "We should leave a note."
Victor, as it turns out, has paper and pencil in his pocket. You dictate the note you want to leave, which makes Rune giggle and Victor nod in approval.
Spoiler: Clockblocker-o-vision"They left a note," Gallant says from where he's kneeling down by the unconscious Mush.
"Really? What's it say?" I ask.
He picks up the scrap of paper, looks at it. Turns it over. Hands it to me without a word.
HOW IS THE PROTECTORATE LIKE NASA?
(turn over for answer)
I turn it over.
THEY BOTH NEED NAZIS TO DO THEIR JOB FOR THEM