"You guys don't mind footing the bill, right?" Jay asked before biting into grilled mysterious meat on a stick. He moved the stick into his hood for Kleo to sample as he chewed and swallowed. "I mean, I got the cash. But you shot me. So, it's okay if I extort you just a little, right?"
Senior Agent Caroline Hoffman shuddered as Senior Agent Derek Owens took out his wallet and paid the mobile street vendor selling vittles from a box. The four members of the Pantheon and the Committee waited on the edges of a Junkside market square that was more festive than his mom's potluck. Where his mom was more the life of the party to lighten the mood for her neighbors, the people of Junkside exuded energy nearly as high as his mom's, all on their own.
Like a mini New Orleans for gangsters and simple outside-the-law folks.
Large circles of gambling addicts rolled dice and played cards in one corner of the square. Another corner had music blasting from hobbled together old speakers running off the juice of a repurposed storm generator, inviting Junkers to dance on an impromptu floor cleared of debris. Circling the perimeter were stalls where vendors sold anything from stuff found in the wastes and refurbished into something nearly as good as new or actual crops grown from hobby farms in the area. They also sold the usual but cheaper commodities: moonshine, weapons, themselves.
Past this square, the junkyard was a short distance away. The danger ramped up with the proximity of the junkyard, too. Men and women openly walked around toting pistols or rifles. This place was so lawless that Jay could've sworn he saw a police officer from his neighborhood getting shoulder-to-shoulder with a local gangster while they played card games.
He watched from his seat on a low metal awning on the edge of a pavilion. Getting off the ground gave him a good view of the action and made him feel better. His gunshot wound was healing steadily because of systemic health regen and his [Status Channels] Talent. He could feel it accelerating the regen.
He rolled the flattened bullet around between his fingers, feeling its shape as he looped visions of getting shot.
"Are you okay, Master?" Kleo asked after another bite of mystery meat.
"Getting shot," Jay said, "is one of those big American fears that are hard-coded into boys like me. So, I feel like I'm doubting it happened even though it did. Because I got shot. But I'm okay. But being shot is a big deal. But I'm okay. It won't even be a thing in a few hours when I heal up on my own. But I got shot."
"Cognizant dissonance," Agent Owns said. "Uh, sorry to interrupt. That's the term for what you're feeling."
"I feel sick to my stomach," Agent Hoffman said. "Why did I pull out the gun?"
"You got scared," Jay said. "And I used the Skill dumbly. And my Chance Status is low. So, I should go home. Because I got shot. But I'll hate to turn back now that I've started this challenge."
The agents shared a concerned look before returning their attention to the Champion sitting above them. Agent Owens, a mid-thirties man with a tall and sporty build, spoke with an easy-going style. "I'll be straight with you, brah, it would be rad if you bail and head home. But the agency says you being out here is an epic thing."
Jay quirked his head. "SoCal?"
"I'm not supposed to say," Agent Owens answered, the corner of his mouth curling up.
Agent Hoffman, a late twenties woman with a bookish office secretary build, picked up from there. "We've been cleared to speak openly with you in case this happened."
"In case you shot me?" Jay asked thoughtlessly.
"N-no, in case we've made contact with you," Agent Hoffman stuttered. "The organization has evidence that the World's Knife will be active tonight."
"And before we go into more detail about that," Agent Owens stepped in, "maybe we can get you down here with us for a bit. These are some waves we gotta surf carefully."
"Master," Kleo asked in a low voice only Jay could hear. "Do you trust these two?"
Trust? No.
But he had no reason to ignore them, either. Besides, the reactions Agent Hoffman had from shooting Jay felt genuine.
It would be crazy 4D chess moves if Agent Hoffman was faking her apologetic expressions and the gravity of shame burdening her shoulders. Agent Owens wasn't as bothered, but he was weighed by wariness that he hid behind his cool and dudish posture. He kept scanning the area every ten seconds when he wasn't focused on Jay.
The [Freak] dropped from the awning and eased off the brakes to [Moonwalker's] Passive. He landed with a soft crunch, his right eye shining a little brighter with neon purple light.
"I'm terrible at keeping a low profile," Jay said.
The agents shared another look, the man shrugging. Agent Hoffman spoke gingerly, "We've accounted for that in the organization." She spoke no more.
"Hm, this is a problem," Jay said.
The agents looked worried.
"We're getting a little too serious and distant," Jay said. "My fault. I'm going to think of your first names from now on. It'll help personalize you guys for me."
Caroline and Derek nodded before falling in step behind Jay as the [Freak] recontinued his Junkyard journey. They walked in a single file line as Jay maneuvered around crowds of people forcing him to be mindful of his path. His magic powers didn't afford instant respect.
He was small. He was not from here. And Junkers walked like they owned the place, which they did. The [Freak] moved out of the way of everyone crossing paths with him first rather than the other way around. The agents followed at his heels, standing out way more than him. Thankfully, they slipped past the square successfully and entered a narrow footpath between shanty homes and random concrete mansions where wealthier junkers lived. The foot traffic thinned.
"Lemme guess," Jay said. "The World's Knife is the main assassin group out for us Champions?"
"Affirmative," Caroline answered.
"We can't act preemptively, either. They're scattered internationally and have strong political ties with UN nations," Derek explained. "That and they might have their hands in the pockets of some of our fellow Americans in high places."
"Reasons?" Jay grunted before frowning. He was having a hard time shaking off the weighty seriousness.
"Hard to tell," Caroline said. "They could have contracts from rival organizations wanting a Champion slot."
"Or they could be put up to the task by gonzo-loco new world cults that want the apocalypse to come full force," Derek added. "But that's the extent we know as field agents."
"Eh, why choose one reason over the other? Just make money off every secret group that wants us dead and get the biggest payday ever," Jay said, thinking about how the System could up the ante. Then it could hold more weight and power over the Champions. Like a guillotine that grew larger with every actor and plot point.
As they stopped at a four-way intersection, people, vehicles, and farm animals used the same paths with little concern for structured traffic rules. They seemed to figure out how to get around each other instinctively. But certain road users were afforded more respect than others. That was the case with a platoon of rifle-toting gangsters wearing black berets.
Jay watched them curiously when one of the leaders at the front stopped and turned to him. All at once, the entire platoon halted as two leaders moved in step together. One was a girl about his age with an overbite and a cocky smile. The other was a solemn-looking guy that might be in his early twenties.
"What's with those eyes, Uptowner?" the girl asked, her smile growing wider. "I want 'em."
"I decided to become a [Freak]," Jay said plainly." Then I had this look into the endless ocean of divinity. It burned out my left eye before my Patron deity helped me replace it with a better one."
He shrugged.
"It's a mad useful eye, this new one. But I can't use it too much since it'll screw with my low Chance Status right now. And the story's chomping at the bit to bring me down and ruin my jokey nature. They even have assassins on the hunt for me."
He could sense the agents freaking out as he openly dropped the truth on the random gangster girl.
The girl hesitated.
Her partner stepped in. "We should leave this one alone. He got crazy juju to him."
"He's just a damn Uptowner high off something," the beret girl grouched, waving her partner off. She turned back to Jay. "What they sold you? And who? The Zion Soldiers will do you better than anyone."
Before Jay could answer, the girl sprung forward and snatched him by the front of his sweater. The agents held their bearing since it was well-known Champions were supposed to deal with confrontations like these. Kleo was having a hard time holding back, her little toes kneading the skin on her master's neck anxiously as she hid in the shadow of his hood.
"Unless you're down here trying to snatch and hatch?" she asked.
Jay tilted his head, confused.
"Buy wholesale for dirt cheap and compete with the local sellers," Derek explained carefully. "There are agreements between gangs to keep everyone in line."
The gangster girl and her partner looked at the agents more closely. Subtle gestures from the leaders stirred their platoon into a more threatening stance. Their rifles were set at the ready as they started to surround Jay and company. The intersection cleared out rapidly. Onlookers didn't even bother to gossip.
"I'm friends with the Junker Twins," Jay said.
"There's a bunch of those," the girl spat.
Oh, yeah. The nickname probably worked better at his school.
"Uh, Rick and Tim O'Kelly?" Jay admitted. "Oh, and I'm not high or anything. Hell, I just got shot earlier. I'm just here to work on a magic project at the junkyard, and the O'Kelly's gave me some advice to go through here."
"He's got the juju, and he's friends with the O'Kelly Family," the solemn man said. "Back off."
"It could be another crazy lie like everything else," the girl argued.
"He is crazy," the guy said, "but he's not lying. Do not mess with his juju."
The girl wrinkled her nose. But she listened to her partner and released Jay. "Freaking weirdos these days. They come from all over."
The Zion Soldiers returned to formation and marched off. Jay crossed the street like normal, took a zig-zaggy series of turns, and found a man-sized hole in an old fence, a small part of the giant patchwork barrier surrounding the junkyard perimeter.
A Zion Soldier asked for a toll at the hole.
Derek paid for their entry. They left one world behind and entered a new one. It was nearly dark now. But the moon would be out depending on if the weather permitted or rained. Jay also had his 3D gravity mapping, but he walked mindfully of the agents that didn't have his high Perception and magic.
"Did you tell the truth on purpose to throw them off?" Caroline asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Yes, and no," Jay said. "I was just too lazy to lie."
"Were you able to use that [Identify] Talent?" Derek asked.
"Yeah," Jay lied. "She ain't nobody special."
[Identify] didn't work on people without systems. [Eye of Venerated Madness] suffered the same when regarding profiles. So, Jay hadn't bothered using either Talent for identifying people since he'd gotten here. This was the one occasion where the agents' gap in knowledge was something Jay didn't feel like correcting. YoAnna must've not told them on purpose for some reason.
"She's a new face," Caroline said. "No profile on her, which is worrying. Could be an angle the World's Knife uses."
"Could be," Jay said.
"Gangsters and assassins," Derek said. "I didn't think it'd come to this when I signed up."
With fewer people around, Kleo crawled out of the hood and onto Jay's shoulder like a monkey. "I wanna know more about the assassins," Kleo said. "Are they only after Jay? Or all the Champions? And does that include their families?"
The agents hesitated at the sight of Jay's familiar. They'd known she was there, but seeing her come out fully was still a shock for most people. Clearly, Agent Cabana was heads and shoulders above the rest when upholding the stony image of a professional agent.
"They haven't targeted families before," Caroline said as they rounded a series of towers to reach a narrow metal bridge spanning over a plastic sea. "But we believe they'll want to hurt their most vital targets."
"Who?" Jay asked.
"The closest friends of Miss Sainte-Rhythms," Derek said solemnly. "The past two years have seen assassination attempts on you, Mike, and Lilith more than the others."
"You especially," Caroline added. "The attempts on your life are double than everyone else combined."
Jay stopped at the edges of a gravel lot filled with giant junkyard trucks and machines.
"Why?"
"Because they know how important you are to the godling," Kleo deduced. "Now I gotta know. Did she hurt the assassins that came after Jay more than the ones that attacked the other Champions?"
Caroline shuddered.
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Derek rubbed his jaw. "They didn't cut back on the dossier they've briefed us on. So, yeah, I'll bite. She showed a different side of her that has the agency wary." Derek looked Jay in the eyes. "When the assassins came after you, she took her time with them. I wouldn't wish what she did to them on my worst enemies."
Jay thought back to how YoAnna pulled apart an armored vehicle like it was cotton candy. Then he linked that with his experience in YoAnna's domain twisted into a dungeon where the Haunting Siren nearly scored a win on him.
Oh yeah, YoAnna had her dark side.
It was getting pressured by the System Admins while being alone after the genocide of her Pantheon. So, someone trying to mess with the mortals she was very possessive over was playing with divine fire.
Jay chuckled softly. "Okay, I think I got it now." He slapped on a lopsided and silly grin. "I can't let this turn me dark."
"What?" Caroline asked.
"The story. I think it's culminating to a big end for the weekend." Jay recontinued their journey. "We all get back to school tomorrow. We'll all reconnect for the first time since we've left as newly turned Champions and come back as badass heroes. That's significant, right?"
"Brah, I'm not briefed on this story business," Derek said. "Sounds epic, though. So keep going as we record this for the agency."
"I'm pretty sure they've heard tidbits here and there at my house," Jay said. "But I'm having this high moment of realization. So, I'll be happy to use you guys as soundboards."
"Fine by us," Caroline said.
Jay talked as the ideas came to him. It was long-winded, filled with plot holes, and required him to retcon a few areas that felt underdeveloped. But the agents listened until Jay arrived at the specific area Tim had described to him.
It was just what he needed. It had some stacks of random furniture and house appliances. But the stacks weren't too large. There was open space in between maze-like walls of flattened junk. Then there were a few towers that stood out on the edges. One of them reached up to fifty feet in height.
It was a recently expanded part of the junkyard. It didn't have that much foot traffic compared to other areas where junkers went to sift and thrift.
"Who's going to protect my mom?" Jay asked as he removed his backpack and hoodie and passed them to Derek. "Because the story wants me to suffer like the atypical hero."
He really shouldn't have compared himself to Spider-Man.
Kleo's thruster wings flared, lighting the side of Jay's face and shoulder with a bright purple neon glow. Her [Orbital Mastery] appeared as a shimmering purple aura around Jay before fading from view. She entered a circling drift that spun around him, completing a circle every few seconds before thrusting herself into another orbiting angle and direction. She wanted to practice changing her orbital vectors to keep them from being predictable and easy to target.
They had no idea what would happen if she was damaged. She'd admitted she didn't feel scared of death for some reason. But that didn't make her impervious.
The agents communicated to their higher chain through their encrypted smartwatches. They received a disappointing answer.
"Information is getting disseminated carefully," Caroline said. "The organization can't tell us on the ground level."
"I bet it's cuz there are moles or something," Jay said, taking a short sword out of his bag of holding. "Mike and Lilith would know better. Me, I figure it's like Hydra. It's always hard to kill that multi-headed snake of former Nazis."
"It sounds like the agency sent their best to protect Miss Luckrun," Derek said.
Jay laughed as he started to warm up with a bit of b-boying top work and introductory flips. Kleo took a second to realize what he was laughing over and started laughing with him.
"I missed the joke," Caroline admitted.
"Same here, but I'm glad I took this assignment," Derek said. "This kid is loco, but I like his style."
"I know who they sent," Jay said. "And my mom is going to be so freaking happy."
"He shouldn't have tempted Chance when he turned you down, Master!" Kleo screeched. "Irony! Oh, the sweet irony!"
***
"Would you like some rum? Or a beer? I'm stocked up after the potluck," Miss Luckrun asked as she hovered over Frank.
"No."
"You sure? You're so tense my back is getting knotted up around you." Jhara sighed. "I can use a handsome young man to rub those out."
The one-armed Champion sighed for the dozenth time since entering the Luckrun household. With Jay committed to personal magic practice that everyone and their freaking former spy grandmothers would try to into eagerly, Frank got yanked from his R-n-R and given the mission of protecting Jay's mother.
The World's Knife was going to strike tonight.
The warning came late because too many chiefs and meetings got in the way. In the end, the organization returned to its main agreement with YoAnna: keep the Champions informed and step in when the opportunity would arrive.
All around the city, Champions removed themselves from their families. An open invitation to the assassins to target them specifically. That way, MPC agents could fully engage if the assassins targeted the families and friends of those Champions. The likelihood of civilian loved ones being targeted was low for most of the Champions, except for Lilith, Mike, and Jay.
They had a high likelihood of having their families attacked.
Especially regarding Jay.
The MPC sent the best systemless agents to reinforce the teams watching over Lilith and Mike's families. The agents charged with protecting Mike's mom needed extra care since he hadn't informed his mom of the apocalyptic situation and had to slip out of his window in secret. Supposedly, the [Mage] had been grounded by Mother Zhou and must maintain the illusion of being housebound. Hence, an agent similar to Mike's frame and voice acted as a sleeping double.
Frank hoped the agents sent to Lilith's family didn't get caught in the crossfire of her alchemy powers. She might not even agree to have the agency's help.
Even then, the assassins might overlook Mike and Lilith's families and friends. The World's Knife would need all its resources funneled toward its high-priority targets.
That was not the case for Jhara Luckrun. There was definite confirmation that the World Knife wanted her dead along with the son.
An attempt at her life had been thwarted just when Jay left for the junkyard. That situation spoke highly of Agent Cabana. She'd remembered every profile of everyone near the Luckrun's neighborhood and had the sheer mortal brain power and will to spot something amiss.
Such as a fake dog walker with a silent pistol timing their assassination attempt when Jhara would walk onto her front porch. A habit of hers when she brainstormed what to write for the next scene of her book. Agent Cabana had been a step ahead of the assassin. The consequence of that victory cemented everything that had unfolded so far.
Frank sat on the floor of the Luckrun home with his legs crossed. On his lap was a magical katana.
[Identifying:] Kiddish Kobold Katana, Basic–it's the lowest rung of weaponry Kobold children. Made in their kiddie smitheries before they grow up and use the great dragon forges. But it's still a better blade than a mundane one. Grants +1 Conviction, tiny fire damage, and tiny heat boosts.
"There's a term I've heard," Frank said, making conversation to redirect Miss Luckrun's manic energy. "Weeaboo. It fills me with this weird shame for associating myself with this thing."
The greatsword YoAnna had given him worked better with two hands. Yeah, he had the Strength to one-hand it. But it didn't feel right.
That led him to visit YoAnna's outer mansion before he came here and protected Miss Luckrun. The organization had also wanted him to peek at what YoAnna was doing with the cores, but her alien guardians escorted him strictly to the gymnasium and wouldn't leave his side.
No skin off Frank's back. He preferred the agency side of things. The original purpose of the MPC was to observe and assist. But then the agency got absorbed into the organization, which was the more military and domineering component. You could kind of tell who favored the big organization or the small agency based on if they called the MPC agency or organization.
He'd found the Kiddish Kobold Katana in a barrel with a bunch of other katanas made by various fantasy races. Like it was in a discount bin at an outlet mall.
Now on his lap, the weapon featured a black wavy pattern that hadn't set in properly. Around the Boshi, the curved edge, was burnt orange coloration that tried to follow the Ha, the edge, and petered out midway down. He could feel the derisive judgments from other agents, especially Senior Agent Cabana, for his selection.
Miss Luckrun sat on the floor with him. Frank could see traces of Jay on her face. But that was a paltry comparison to the aura of sheer personality she exuded that Jay hadn't grown into yet.
She poured herself a silo cup of rum and coke she'd brought over from the kitchen. She took a long sip before looking at him over the rim of her drink.
"Do you know why the katana is shat on?" she asked.
"Because a bunch of nerds on the internet made it a cringe weapon to consider," Frank muttered.
"Exactly!" Jhara cheered. "Nerds. Geeks. Japanophiles, one and all! Ever since we've rammed nukes down their throats and shoved our American awesomeness into their hearts, we started a two-way connection. We opened the door."
"The door?" Frank asked carefully, feeling a strange deja vu. It was like having Jay in front of him again.
"Yes, the door. It was supposed to be a small door. But it got bigger and bigger because the Japanese got this thing. What is it called? Starts with a b."
"The bushido code?" Frank said plainly.
"Nah, brainwashing," Jhara cheered. "Just like us! But I guess we can settle with the bushido code. Sounds more fun, right? Gets the kids all excited. Helped us link similarities between cowboys and samurais, but the samurai's popularity lasted longer because of brainwashing… I mean anime… I mean bushido code being older and greater than the wild wild west."
"And your point is?" Frank asked, disturbed.
"A nerdy trope can't get so popular and become uncool and stay popular if you don't flood our brains with it," Jhara said before chugging the entire drink. "And make it a part of your culture. A part of your identity. A part of a lie that makes the slightly superior European swords seem worthless compared to archaic layering techniques and weaker steel."
"What does all that mean?"
Jhara poured herself another drink. "Does the magic in that weapon and the power of Chance give a damn about being a weeaboo and the lie sold to everyone over the katana's true effectiveness? Or does the magic care about the katana's story and its widespread recognition? Equating to you being the most dominant badass here on the eve of engaging a bunch of assassins targeting the mother of the main hero?"
Frank gaped at the systemless and magicless woman. He gazed into the katana under a new light and felt a great kinship with it. Which was good since it synergized with [Weapon's Conflagration], his newly acquired Dragon Affinity, and his newest Skill [Dragon's Pride].
He could feel his [Dragon Boon] Talent preparing to boost his Conviction, his offensive damage when in a dominating position, and his connection to fire. All he had learned from Jay's fulfilling talk with YoAnna. It had gotten recorded and passed to Frank.
Crackling embers and tiny black trails of smoke licked at the corners of Frank's mouth, reminding him to keep his Dragon affinity on safe mode. Until he was ready to pull the trigger.
He came down from the high of Chance-savvy katana realizations. He looked apologetically at Jhara for nearly causing a fire in her home.
The devilish woman laughed.
"I know, I know," Jhara said between sips. "I'm more than the profile you have for me."
Her eyes looked deeply at him with an unhinged charm.
"Makes sense, doesn't it?" she continued. "How can the main hero exceed expectations without the mother doing the same?"
"Jay," Frank muttered, thinking of what his nerdy big sister would say, "isn't the main hero."
"And the lancer archetype bears his fangs!" she cheered. "Bon! Bon! I want more of that, man." She raised her cup to toast without spilling it somehow. "It hurts you're not nineteen. But that's okay. The older version of you will do nicely in my next book."
"What?" Frank sputtered.
"The housewives readership are gonna love the strict, dark bushido you," Jhara cheered. "Who's secretly afraid to be vulnerable and can't see himself ever having fun again because of his tragic past. Until she comes along. Average white girl template 9333!"
Frank sighed for the thirteenth time, losing all mirth and wonder. Truly, there was no greater hell than this.
He wondered how the other Champions would do against the assassins tonight. Jay would probably pull something out of his ass and win.
Others were more of a concern.
Brit, especially, since she was the most isolated while being a pivotal asset.
Her updated MPC dossier suggested she was the main healer of the Champions if you disclude Emily. And even Frank knew the healer was the biggest target.