Della was being watched. She could tell this because her senses went beyond what the Material World had to offer. She opened her eyes, head tilted backward, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Red emergency lights lit her prison. Why red? She had wondered plenty of times. It made her look more ominous, perhaps. It warned everyone that she was dangerous. This pleased Della—but the rest of her situation not so much.
She was hung up in the middle of the small room, the portals around her limbs humming constantly. They were connected to other worlds, and in those worlds her hands and feet were locked up tightly. Crucified between five places as such, Della was unable to use her reality-bending powers to free herself. Even two completely different worlds would have been too much, let alone five. It was a deviously clever way to pin her down and keep her captive. Although the portals carried the risk of needing constant maintenance, Della’s captors were careful. She hadn’t been able to escape in the last century or so.
Della lowered her gaze, acknowledging her new admirer. The person watching her was another Pheilett scientist, standing on the other side of the wide glass window of her room. The scientist had one eye on the datapad in his hands while his other two eyes were fixated on the tube in Della’s chest. Della looked down at it too. The tube was attached to the hole in her chest; her heart-hole, where her mortal heart had once been. Black blood oozed from the wound that would never heal, greedily siphoned away through the tube. It surprised Della, just a little bit, how much she bled today. She felt so weak lately, so starved. Hungry, hungry, hungry! She tried to open her maw to scream, but the muzzle around her face prevented it.
Della closed her eyes quickly, taking control of her instincts. Struggling just made things worse. She had to conserve her energy. Her pale body glistened with sweat and she breathed harder. She didn’t need to sweat or breathe, but she couldn’t help it. Mortal instincts plagued her in this weakened state. The portals buzzed around her limbs, taunting her. If only she could break one of them…
Della was the youngest demon in this facility. She felt through the fabric of reality that there were three others nearby. She was the youngest, and the only one who had once been human. This gave her hope. Other demons looked down on her because of how young and weak she was in comparison, yet here in this prison, this was the very thing that gave Della hope. Her mind was resilient and resourceful. She wasn’t broken yet. The other demons had all but given up on ever escaping this facility, but she hadn’t. So who was the actual weakling here, dears?
Della grinned behind her muzzle and opened her eyes again. The scientist jumped a little in fright, startled by her predatory gaze. Sooner or later, Della would make him pay too. She would make all of these creatures pay. It was a promise from one immortal to another.
Right then, Della felt a sudden disturbance nearby. She could sense it through the Astral Plane—a strange, familiar feeling that felt like herself. Part of herself. A thrall? No, it didn’t feel like any thrall she had created. The Pheilett wouldn’t allow those to enter their facility anyway. This strange new sensation was coming from a few rooms away on the same floor as Della’s cell was located. Instinctively, she turned her head as much as her muzzle allowed for looking in that direction.
The scientist noticed. Damn him, he had been waiting to see whether Della felt the disturbance! Della screamed in fury, jerking on her restraints, which in turn sent unimaginable pain through her body. Pain that she shouldn’t have been able to feel. She screamed even harder, a guttural sound muffled by her muzzle, her hunger taking over as she threw herself against the restraints, causing even more pain and making her even more hungry. She saw red. Red, red, red. Perhaps that was why the lights were always red.
Assistant Kamoratugordon watched the thrashing demon a while longer, but it didn’t seem likely to calm down anytime soon. He turned and walked away briskly, heading for the new arrival’s cell. Today was a busy day. Kamora would have been glad to leave the demon behind if only his next stop didn’t involve another kind of monster. But such was his work, and he didn’t complain.
As Inspector Shiraksavalirin’s favorite Assistant, Kamora helped her with the most important projects. He wasn’t particularly interested in the projects themselves, but he was a hard worker. The best Assistant, really. He had high hopes that one day he would become an Inspector too—and then he would work on projects that actually interested him. He didn’t have any idea yet what those would be, but he was confident that he would find something intriguing. Until then, working as an Assistant was a good way to pass time, keep him engaged, and prevent his mind from wasting away.
“Where are you, Assistant?” came the Inspector’s voice through Kamora’s encephalic chip. She sounded relaxed, despite being furious not so long ago. Inspector Tahummondiwich’s meddling had really gotten to her nerves; she must have taken a spirit shot to stabilize her emotions.
“Almost there, Inspector,” Kamora sent back along with a sense of urgency.
“You know how much I dislike tardiness.”
“I apologize, Inspector,” Kamora said. He wasn’t late yet; if he kept this pace, he would arrive exactly on time. But he didn’t become the Inspector’s favorite Assistant by talking back to her, and so he just increased his walking speed.
He passed sterile, white rooms one after the other. This section of the Facility tended to be fairly busy – it was centered around researching the Astral Plane – but at the moment the corridors were almost completely deserted. Inspector Shiraksavalirin’s orders, most likely. Curious. Was it so that Kamora could arrive sooner?
“There you are,” the Inspector said via her mouth when Kamora came into sight. “Ready to monitor him?”
“In a moment, Inspector,” Kamora replied, putting his mask on. The Inspector was already wearing hers. It was a standard procedure not to show any skin in the presence of Players. Kamora had a complex job; it included acting and being a good showman next to his usual tasks as a personal assistant and scientist.
The Inspector waited – rather impatiently – until Kamora turned his datapad on, then opened the door next to her and entered without ceremony. Kamora followed her. The room they entered was large but mostly empty, with the exception of some medical equipment along the walls that had been put there just for show. In the middle of the room stood a single clinical bed upon which Subject Randel slept. He had been stripped of his clothes and his prosthetic leg, as well as both of his demonic weapons. He awoke just as the Inspector and the Assistant arrived.
“Good morning, Subject Randel,” Inspector Shiraksava spoke in the Human’s language. Subject Randel tensed for the briefest of moments before rolling off the bed toward the Inspector, landing on his one leg and pushing off to jump straight at her—except his body froze and he crumpled to the floor right in front of the Inspector’s feet.
“That was rather rude,” the Inspector chided him. “Naked as you are, you still wear the collar. You should learn your place.”
“You lied to us,” Subject Randel growled, shaking with anger. “You said that if our host died, we would be forever trapped in the dagger. You said nothing about getting a new host.”
It was Subject Ryder’s shade talking. Kamora watched his datapad, which was connected to Subject Randel’s Transcension Device. According to the analytics the third shade dominated his body. The rest of them were there too, of course. Fear, hatred, thirst for revenge, ambition to turn this situation to their advantage, and more. They felt all sorts of predictable things. The third shade’s anger trumped them all.
“I understand your concern,” the Inspector said. “You think we’re liars. You lost faith in our integrity. But you aren’t aware of the context, and that’s exactly why I brought you here. Let us have a nice little talk, shall we?”
Subject Randel was going to shoot back a biting remark, so Kamora blocked his ability to speak. Inspector Shiraksava leaned slightly forward to look down at him as she continued her speech.
“Subject Randel, allow me to be brutally honest with you: your current predicament has never been my intention. The Inspector of Subject Ryder has overstepped when he bound a second demonic weapon to you. To a Player of mine. He had his fun, and so it stands to reason that I have my own in turn. Do you remember the reward for your Shades of the Moon quest? A conversation with me and a small favor. You haven’t killed the other shadebound Players yet, but I decided to have that conversation now. A fair compensation, wouldn’t you say?”
Kamora allowed Subject Randel to speak again, but he just snorted out a laugh. Disgusting creature. He regained control over his body too, so he pushed himself up to sit. Part of him was thinking about how to land a surprise attack on the Inspector, and part of him wondered how he was going to deal with Kamora after that. But the rest of him was content to wait, behave, and hear what the Inspector wanted to say.
“Sure,” Subject Randel said. He grinned, baring his white teeth at the Inspector. “A conversation.”
Kamora frowned behind his mask. These were the first measurements since Subject Randel had been fused with the third shade, and the analytics weren’t promising. His Human side was completely suppressed. The third shade hadn’t been carefully curated, hadn’t been tailored to the Human’s personality. It was loud and bold and occupied most of his mind-space whenever the other two shades allowed it.
Worse yet, the Transcension Device around Subject Randel’s neck couldn’t interpret every thought he had. The readings on Kamora’s datapad were much vaguer than before; the storm of surface thoughts obscured the deeper thoughts. This worried Kamora. Not because he was afraid for the sanity of the Human, but because their technology relied on reading thoughts. What if the Device wouldn’t be able to stop Subject Randel from attacking them because he hid his intention beneath several layers of other intentions?
On the other hand, assaulting Kamora and the Inspector required all those hidden thoughts to surface. To act on them, they needed to come to the forefront—at which point the Device would surely stop Subject Randel. Yes, the restraints were completely secure. Yet much like standing in front of the captured demon, Kamora couldn’t help but feel some unease.
Some people, like Inspector Shiraksava, actually enjoyed these things. A taste of danger, a taste of mortality. Kamora would have been completely fine without them. He watched anxiously as the Inspector turned her back to Subject Randel to take a pair of crutches from a cabinet. She handed them to Subject Randel, who grabbed the handles and gripped them hard—and the datapad in Kamora’s hand went haywire with all sorts of violent thoughts.
“Thanks,” Subject Randel said as he took the crutches and stood with their help. “Are we going for a walk?”
“Yes. I intend to give you a brief tour around the Facility.”
They were just talking. Kamora blinked his eyes rapidly, shaking off his surprise. He realized that he had been clutching his datapad so tight that his fingers hurt. By the time he looked back up, Inspector Shiraksava and Subject Randel were already halfway out of the room. Kamora hurried after them, falling behind Subject Randel at a safe distance. He wasn’t scared, and he wasn’t a coward. This was just a rational precaution.
For a while, the Inspector walked and Subject Randel hobbled after her without a word, turning from one empty corridor to another. Kamora realized that this was why the Inspector had cleared the place. She didn’t want other people to intervene! Taking Subject Randel to a tour seemed spontaneous at first glance, but Kamora didn’t doubt that the Inspector had detailed plans about which sections of the Facility to show him.
It was a strange ploy. Unprecedented. Inspector Shiraksava was famous for thinking out of the box and coming up with new ideas, and this occasion was no different. Bold and innovative. Showing the Facility to a Player of the Game of Ascension felt wrong somehow, even if Karmora didn’t particularly care for the game. It showed that Subject Randel was indeed the Inspector’s favorite Subject.
“So,” Subject Randel said. “This is the place where you control all the Player stuff.”
“Among other things, yes. The Facility is bigger than you might think. This way, please.”
The Inspector turned, and Subject Randel followed her with a flash of annoyance. He found the pace too fast to keep up with only one leg, but he felt too prideful to ask the Inspector to slow down. Interesting. This definitely wouldn’t have been the case before the third shade.
“Report,” came the telepathic command from the Inspector.
“The preliminary measurements are done,” Kamora sent back. “The in-depth analysis will have to wait until later, but it’s obvious that Subject Randel’s mind isn’t broken yet. The shades are somehow working together.”
“And the Human?”
“His neuroplasticity is truly remarkable; hosting two shades has created pathways that are sufficient for a third one as well. However, it seems like he has capitulated. He doesn’t struggle and he’s almost completely oppressed. He has no will anymore. Perhaps that’s why they are still sane.”
“Perhaps,” the Inspector said.
“The current results are not conclusive,” Kamora added. “Inspector, based on previous records I believe that the chance of recovery is minimal. Subject Randel wasn’t able to keep the first two shades in check, so it’s unlikely that he’ll overcome three of them.”
Inspector Shiraksava remained silent. If Kamora’s words were true, Subject Randel had outlived his usefulness. He had been an excellent Subject for gauging how many shades a mortal mind could take, but the purpose of this project was to keep the Human unbroken.
Subject Randel was doomed from the start, naturally. Nobody had expected success on the first try; Subject Randel’s only purpose was to provide feedback through which the Scientists could refine their work. The first step on a long journey, at the end of which waited a safe method for extracting information from the shades. If the Scientists could achieve that in a manner that didn’t put the host’s sanity at risk, their understanding of the Astral Plane would advance by leaps and bounds. The kind of knowledge that eternal entities like the shades harbored was supposed to be unparalleled.
Thinking about it this way, Kamora did like his job. He found it uplifting to be part of such an important discovery. Then his eyes landed on the naked Human hobbling in front of him and his thoughts turned sour. Kamora’s job was to wade through the muck while he carried the Inspectors and Scientists on his shoulders. He did the dirty groundwork, and they took all the credit.
“Pay attention, Assistant.”
Kamora jerked to a stop as ahead of him Subject Randel slowed down, looking around with avid interest. Right, the laboratories. Their wide glass windows were lined up on both sides of the corridor, clearly displaying what was happening inside. There was a room with Pheilett-sized insectoid creatures, each of them connected to the wall with long cables. The next room had the same creatures but with masked Scientists dissecting them. On the other side was a laboratory with all sorts of feline beasts floating in large incubators. They all had different shapes and forms, some of them horrendously mutated. Scientists and Assistants stood around the incubators to take notes.
It was one big ruse, but Subject Randel seemed to be none the wiser. Curiosity dominated his brainwaves; the shades were busy looking for clues that later they could use for their own benefit. The laboratories on display provided a good show for the Spectators too, playing onto their expectations about how the Facility should look like. The reality was much more mundane than this, however. Scientists watched their Subjects through monitors while robots and nanobots did the manual work. No physical contact, no risk for accidents. If a Scientist wanted to do hands-on experiments, they would just hop into a simtube and do it with an artificial body.
Subject Randel stopped in front of a window that displayed a type of monster he already knew well; the creatures were called swellers in Nerilia. The room showcased them in plenty of sizes and varieties. A Scientist was watching a big green sweller as it reanimated a humanoid corpse. Subject Randel moved on quickly after seeing that, his thoughts shifting. His curiosity was gone, replaced by disappointment and anger. Kamora’s datapad indicated why.
“Inspector,” Kamora telepathically said. “Subject Randel has figured out that these displays are just for show.”
“I know.”
“You do?” Kamora asked before he could have stopped himself.
“There’s no need to read his thoughts to know this, Assistant. Just look at his posture, watch his reactions. It’s plain to see.”
Kamora looked up from his datapad, but he didn’t see any change in the ugly Human’s posture. He doubted that the Inspector saw anything either; most likely it was just bravado so that she appeared smarter. He kept those thoughts wisely to himself, of course.
“You aren’t very good at this,” Subject Randel spoke, startling Kamora. “Tour guides should be more chatty.”
“Is that so?” the Inspector asked. “Ask, and I shall answer. That is the nature of this conversation.”
“You just want to see what interests us. Our questions will reveal what we most desperately wish to know.”
“We? Using royal plural now, are we?”
“There’s no reason to pretend that we’re a single entity. You’re well aware of this, so we don’t think we should bother with keeping up that appearance. Was this information useful to you?”
Subject Randel glanced pointedly at Kamora, who pretended to not notice. Inspector Shiraksava let out a pleasant laugh.
“You’re so paranoid that it’s almost adorable,” she said. “So what if we learn new things about you? In return, you learn new things about us. I do believe that you have more to lose by staying silent.”
Subject Randel considered that for a moment.
“We wonder why you’re doing this,” he said. “Somehow you must benefit from dragging us out here, or else you wouldn’t have done it.”
“Indeed,” the Inspector said. “But wonder no longer, Subject Randel, because we have already arrived. This is what I wanted to show you.”
The corridor ended ahead of them in a round window. The wall on the left had a portal terminal and an emergency exit to an escape pod, but neither of those was what the Inspector had referred to. On their right side lay a room unlike the previous ones. It had a narrow, horizontal window that was perfectly at eye level for Subject Randel. The air shimmered oddly on the other side of the window, unpredictably warping the light. Kamora knew what the phenomenon was; a thin sheet of the Astral Plane stretched along the sides of the room to contain its occupants.
“Shades,” Subject Randel said, his anger spiking once more.
The large, veiled room was indeed full of shades. About a hundred or so by Kamora’s estimation. Cages upon cages lined the walls, each of them made of thinly woven demon blood. The dark matter of the shades was barely visible inside those black cages; only their glowing green eyes betrayed their presence.
Certain cages had bodies in them too. Some of them were dead, some of them were still possessed by a shade. Blood was a common theme around those cages, in spite of the cleaner robots’ constant effort. The middle of the room was difficult to see from all the interference; it reminded Kamora of a low-resolution screen. He knew however that it contained all sorts of torture devices capable of convincing the shades to look for another host.
As a rule, creatures of the Astral Plane were very stubborn—though perhaps the correct terminology here was that they didn’t perceive time the same way as people of the Waking World did. A few years of resisting was nothing for these creatures, and that was precisely why robots did the torturing part. Some shades might have been patient, but none of them was more patient than a machine. They also weren’t able to possess robots, which was an important factor in handling them this way.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Inspector Shiraksava asked. “This is just one room among many. We’ve captured so many shades that we barely know what to do with them.”
That comment was the last straw for Subject Randel. Kamora had been expecting it, yet even so he let out a gasp as Subject Randel spun around, swinging the crutch in his right hand at the Inspector’s head. His body jerked before the hit could connect, aborting the strike and staggering back, then freezing up and falling backward, slumping against the wall beneath the window. An angry cry escaped Subject Randel’s throat before the collar around his neck put an end to that too. Inspector Shiraksava continued to speak as if nothing had happened.
“Subject Randel, I wanted to show you this room for one clear purpose: to let you learn your place. Recent events have proven that if your body dies, you might get injected into another shadebound host. However, I wanted you to know that you’re gravely mistaken if you think that you can be as careless as you wish. If I see that you aren’t trying hard enough, I will not give you another body. Our original deal stands. Cooperate, and you won’t have to spend the rest of eternity in that dagger. Allow your body to die, and suffer the consequences.”
Subject Randel grunted, his arms and head twitching, unable to do much else.
“If you don’t believe me or my words, believe the evidence,” the Inspector said, gesturing at the window over Subject Randel’s head. “Why would I want to give some disobedient shades a new body? We have hundreds of others, thousands of better candidates. I could use as many of you as I wished. You’re expendable, Subject Randel. Never forget that.”
Subject Randel stopped struggling and fell very, very still. The restraints were removed from him but he continued sitting by the wall, turning his head slowly up to meet the Inspector’s eyes.
“We’re going to make you pay for this.”
Inspector Shiraksava sighed in response.
“Revenge?” she asked, her voice full of disappointment. “That’s so … typical. Did you know that the mortals you’ve possessed shaped you over the years? The shades of ages past weren’t vengeful at all. The concept was beyond them.”
“We’re not shades anymore,” Subject Randel said, standing slowly back up. He leaned against the window, pretending to hold into it for support. Kamora saw on his datapad that he was actually testing the window’s strength.
“Really?” Inspector Shiraksava said. “Do you honestly mean it, or are you saying it just to distract me? You won’t be able to break that window, so you really shouldn’t bother.”
“We meant it honestly,” Subject Randel said, letting go of the window to pick up his crutches. “We are not shades. We are Randel. All of us exist together. When did a shade ever share a body with another shade? We are something new.”
“I feel like my point didn’t quite get across,” the Inspector said. “You’re not unique, Subject Randel. Multiple shades using the same body is a somewhat new experiment, I freely admit that, but we could create as many shadebound as we wished. If you think that you’ll receive special treatment just because you’re a valuable Test Subject, you’re mistaken.”
Subject Randel turned aside, taking another look at the captive shades. One of the robots was dragging a new cage out of the blurry center of the room. A limp, broken body lay at the bottom of the cage while a swirling black cloud with bright green eyes billowed over it, pressing itself to the edges of the cage. It couldn’t get out. Although it looked as if the gaseous form of the shade should have been able to escape, Kamora knew that it needed an opening wide enough for its eyes to fit through. Although the size and the number of those eyes were erratic, the shades couldn’t change those properties at will. The freedom of the Astral Plane was robbed from them in the Waking World.
Subject Randel watched the trapped shades with something that Kamora’s datapad likened to sympathy. Kamora found the readings on his thoughts disturbing. They were so multi-layered and complex that he couldn’t quite make sense of them, but it was obvious that Subject Randel’s anger was gone. Suppressed. Pheilett always had trouble managing their emotions—they had all sorts of drugs to help them along, but without those it took their moods a long time to change or settle. Seeing someone switch gears in such an abrupt manner, all on their own? It unsettled Kamora deeply.
“Control yourself, Assistant,” the Inspector’s telepathic voice jolted Kamora out of his thoughts. He blinked, only now becoming aware of his quickened breathing. No sound escaped the room with the shades, and the corridor was deserted apart from the three of them. Now that Subject Randel stopped making a scene and stood still by the window, the loudest noise was Kamora’s own breathing. He sounded more nervous than the Test Subject, which was simply shameful.
“I apologize, Inspector,” Kamora sent back, making efforts to reassume a calm and confident appearance. His encephalic chip helped him.
“It’s obvious that we’ve received special treatment,” Subject Randel said, definitely more calm and confident than Kamora. “We have more money than the Players we’ve started with. The armor we have purchased is disproportionally powerful for a new Player. We didn’t assign our attribute points to have more mana for our Abilities, and so the Abilities we receive usually have no mana cost. The name of the Mad Painter has spread across the city suspiciously fast. We fought powerful Players on three separate occasions so far, Players who should have been able to defeat us, but a Domain saved us each and every time. Shall we continue, or do you get our point?”
Inspector Shiraksava chuckled in response.
“Oh, Subject Randel, you still have so much to learn! It would ruin the fun if I explained everything right now, but suffice to say, what you’re talking about isn’t exclusive to you alone. Some Players are more successful than others. Some are luckier than others. That’s just how life is, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Knowing Players like Stanley makes it difficult to believe in true luck.”
“Believe what you wish, Subject Randel. Or would you rather discuss the definition of luck with me?”
“No, thanks. This conversation is pointless. Now that you’ve shown us what you wanted, you’ll just talk in riddles and circles.”
Inspector Shiraksava clicked her tongue in a Human approximation of disapproval.
“The point of a conversation is like a dagger, Subject Randel. If you find it dull, it’s up to you to sharpen it.”
Subject Randel grunted, then hobbled away from the Inspector without further comment. For a moment Kamora thought that he would try to get into the emergency escape pod, but a glance at his datapad reassured him that he just wanted to look out of the round window at the end of the corridor.
“Done with me already?” the Inspector asked as she walked after him. “Well, well, well. I didn’t expect you to retreat so quickly.”
Her tone sounded teasing—as if she was having fun. Inspector Shiraksava was having genuine fun, Kamora realized. He blinked rapidly in shock. Perhaps all those chuckles and laughs hadn’t been an act either? Subject Randel was an insane mortal, an abomination, yet the Inspector was actually enjoying his presence. Kamora followed the two of them to the window, feeling more disturbed than ever.
“Is this real?” Subject Randel asked, staring outside.
The window had an excellent view of Nerilia, presenting the planet in all of its glory. Oceans and lands spread out in equal measure, forming an intricate ecosystem with many different biomes. Nerilia was a small planet, but it was a planet of colors. From the icy caps on the north to the hellish deserts on the south, through deep forests and tall mountains, the planet could accommodate an excellent variety of intelligent species from all across the universe.
That wasn’t all. As colorful as the surface already was, it didn’t show the vast variety of aquatic and underground terrains hidden from the outside observer. Kamora supposed that if someone turned the planet inside out, Nerilia would be even more colorful. Dungeons and World Seeds were what made this planet special, after all.
“It’s as real as it gets,” Inspector Shiraksava said. “That’s Nerilia: the playground you’re living in, Subject Randel. You can even see the Terran Empire from up here, though it looks very small. Puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm. This facility is on the moon.”
“On the moon?” the Inspector asked. “Oh please, Subject Randel, you think much too small! The Facility isn’t on the moon. The Facility is the Moon.”
Subject Randel stood very, very still. Kamora looked at his datapad for analysis; grudging admiration and awe, things that Subject Randel wanted to hide. He was feeling a sense of futility too. The readings were getting jumbled, but it appeared as if he has finally realized how insignificant he was. There was nothing he could do to break free, nothing that would overthrow all of this. He was a speck of dust in the system, of which this sight convinced him more than the Inspector’s words ever had.
All according to Inspector Shiraksava ’s plans, probably.
“We can almost feel the Astral Plane around it,” Subject Randel said. “The fabric of reality is thinner over the planet.”
“That’s a concise way to put it,” the Inspector said. “The Moon powers the planet’s World Seeds, which in turn weaken the boundary between the Astral Plane and the Waking World. That’s where all the magic comes from. People born on the planet are accustomed to the latent mana that suffuses everything, to the extent that they would actually die without it. Players, on the other hand, would die without their collars filtering out said mana. It had taken us a long while, thousands of years ago, to figure out how to protect new arrivals from the ill effects.”
Subject Randel grunted. “That explains some things.”
“Utterly irrelevant things,” the Inspector cheerfully said, “but it’s been my pleasure to sate your curiosity.”
“If you say so. Now, return us to the planet.”
“Already, Subject Randel? Won’t you try getting more information out of me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you know.”
“Doubt it. We’ll talk again, Inspector.”
She laughed again.
“Very well, then. Make sure not to die too soon, alright? Replaceable you might be, but I’d miss your wit dearly.”
The datapad slipped from Kamora’s shocked fingers and clattered to the floor. Inspector Shiraksava gestured at the portal terminal on the left, opened a gate with a mental command, and Subject Randel walked straight through. The portal closed right behind him. Inspector Shiraksava clapped her hands twice, then picked up Kamora’s datapad and handed it back to him. The eyes behind her mask were gleaming with excitement.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?”
End of Act 3: Three is a crowd
