Chapter 98 Welcome Party

This was too good a deal to pass up. It was a steady job, predictable, with consistent income and consistent danger. In the lawless, that was as close to stability as I was going to get.

I leaned forward slightly. “Before we continue, I have a few more questions.”

Mrs. Mind rested her chin on her hand, smirking as if she already knew what I was going to ask. “Go ahead, Eclipse.”

“There are only three quotas,” I said. “But there are four supply runs. What happens to the fourth?”

“Ah.” Her smirk widened, almost approvingly. “Of course, you run it. That’s the price of predictability, you see.”

“That sounds like an extra mission.”

“Good news, then… you get a bonus for every fourth run,” she said lightly. “Paid in marks. And you’ll earn goodwill. No one wants to piss off the guy who brings the groceries. Even me. How else would we eat?” She gestured toward the table littered with papers and a half-eaten sandwich. “I’m a growing girl, Eclipse. I need my sustenance.”

That last part made me grin despite myself. “Any more fine print I should know about?”

“None that you’ll survive long enough to complain about,” she said smoothly. “Any more questions?”

“None,” I replied. “I’m fine with the current arrangement.”

“Don’t be too eager just yet.” She stood, brushing imaginary dust off her pristine suit. “You still have a lunch meeting to attend. Make good alliances, Eclipse. They’ll matter when the bullets start flying. Oh… and about that supply run.”

I tilted my head. “What about it?”

“We didn’t get our shipment yesterday,” she said, tone turning colder. “So I might ask you to move fast. Tomorrow, if possible.”

Tomorrow. No time to waste.

“Any suggestions on who to bring?” I asked.

“In terms of ability, Missive,” she replied without hesitation. “She’s a precog… she sees potential outcomes, probabilities, and paths. Very useful when you’re out there dodging bullets.”

“Precog, huh.” I leaned back slightly. “And the other options?”

“In terms of personality, perhaps Dullahan,” she continued. “You already know her, yes? She’s capable, dependable, and quite… assertive.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, recalling her attitude. “Assertive’s one word for it.”

“And as for versatility,” Mrs. Mind said, tapping a finger against her chin, “Ning would be your best choice. But he’s currently busy with his duties as a guard.”

Frankly, Ning was my first pick. His mobility alone made him invaluable. Still, Dullahan wasn’t a bad second choice, fast, powerful, and someone I knew personally to a degree, but that risked showing her more of what I could do. But Missive… that was a wildcard. A precog could change everything.

I crossed my arms. “Can you tell me more about Missive?”

Mrs. Mind’s eyes flicked toward the elevator as if she could see through the floors. “She rests on the second floor. Been a member of the Ten for three years now.”

“Does she go out often?”

“Rarely,” Mrs. Mind said. “She doesn’t like attention. Prefers to work behind the scenes with safe rooms, encrypted channels, and data models. But when she’s needed…” She gave a small, knowing smile. “She’s very useful in a pinch.”

I nodded slowly, committing that to memory. “Second floor, huh.”

Mrs. Mind’s smile turned faintly mischievous. “Careful when you meet her. She’ll already know how that conversation’s going to end.”

“Then I'd better make it interesting,” I said.

“Good,” she replied. “I’d hate to have a boring courier. Now, is that all?” she asked finally, her tone casual, as if she hadn’t just handed me a job that could get me killed four times a year.

“That’s all,” I replied.

Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Then see you this lunch, Eclipse.” She paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch before adding playfully, “It’s going to be barbecue.”

Barbecue. The word hit me with an odd sense of normalcy, an image of smoke, grilled meat, and laughter in a place that didn’t reek of gun oil or blood. It felt alien. Almost nostalgic.

“I’ll be there,” I said, turning toward the glass doors.

“Make sure you are,” she replied, already diving back into a stack of papers.

The doors slid open automatically, and I stepped into the hallway, letting the soft hum of the elevator swallow me up. By the time I got back to my floor, the smell of the new paint I had recently applied this morning in one of the walls had already faded. My little home inside the Tenfold Keep felt strangely quiet, though it was anything but empty.

Bunnyblade’s engine purred faintly in the corner, his holographic avatar flickering on the TV screen, playing some ridiculous retro fighting game.

He looked up the moment I walked in. “You look serious, Nick. Need a distraction?”

“Yeah,” I said, dropping onto the couch beside him. “Boot it up.”

The TV flashed alive with neon characters clashing, explosions of light, and pixels. I grabbed the controller, rolling my shoulders once.

Onyx appeared beside me with her usual smug grin, leaning over my shoulder. “You sure you wanna lose again, Nick? You’ve been trash all week.”

Silver materialized next, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “He’ll win this time,” she said, beaming. “I believe in him.”

Onyx snorted. “You would.”

The match started. Bunnyblade’s mocking laughter filled the room as his character pummeled mine into a corner.

“Hey, no cheating,” I muttered, eyes locked on the screen.

“Skill issue,” Bunnyblade quipped.

Onyx cheered for him, traitor, and Silver gasped whenever my character took a hit. Their voices, their laughter, even their arguments blended into something almost… domestic. It didn’t feel like I was a murderer or a cape-for-hire. Just a guy killing time, playing games, waiting for lunch.

Of course, I knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

But as the screen flashed K.O., and Bunnyblade whooped in victory, I let myself laugh. Hah~! I sucked at this game.

Lunch arrived with the smell of sizzling meat and the noise of too many people pretending to be relaxed. When the elevator doors opened, I didn’t expect this.

Dozens of Dr. Sequences roamed around the rooftop like clones at a pool party. Every one of them was shirtless, flexing muscles that looked scientifically grown rather than earned. Some turned skewers, others fanned the coals, and a few danced terribly to a pop song playing through portable speakers.

Smoke rolled across the space, stinging my eyes. There were folding tables set up with plates, condiments, and pitchers of fruit punch. For a supposed mercenary of dangerous capes, it looked like a college reunion gone wrong.

A man in a vest stood nearby, chewing loudly on a barbecue stick. He didn’t have a face, just a palm. Five thick fingers flexed where his mouth, hair, and ears should’ve been. His name was Thirdhand. One of the bruisers of the Ten. His telekinetic strength was only slightly less terrifying than the fact that he practically has a barrier of telekinesis over his being 24/7.

My gaze shifted to the pool. A teenage girl swam laps with mechanical precision, her blue hair flashing beneath the sunlight. Hmmm… I knew it could only be Missive, considering I knew what the rest of the Ten looked like.

Then a version of Dr. Sequence approached me, wearing a tropical shirt, a bamboo hat, and sunglasses. He slurped his smoothie through a straw with the smug ease of a man who had already cloned himself to handle the cooking.

“Glad to see you here,” he said, lifting his glass in greeting.

“Working overtime?” I asked, gesturing to the army of him grilling meat… and doing stuff.

“It’s one of our little tyrant’s rules,” he muttered, lowering his shades. “Fucking chores.”

I blinked. “What chore is about partying?”

He grinned. “A party maker.”

Before I could reply, a streak of lightning zipped past us. Plates rattled. The smell of ozone mingled with the barbecue smoke.

Ning appeared beside me, casual as ever, with his dark hair wind-tossed and a skewer already in hand. “You make it sound so miserable,” he said, flashing a grin. “If you ask me, it’s gotta be the best job!”

Before anyone could retort, a loud voice bellowed from across the pool.

“Who the fuck took my barbecue!?” Thirdhand roared, waving his telekinetic hand-fingers like a furious squid. “Where did it go!? Fucker! Ning! It gotta be you!”

Ning laughed, cheeks still puffed from chewing, and blurred into motion, gone in an instant, leaving only a gust of displaced air and a faint echo of his laughter. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Moron!”

Dr. Sequence handed me a plate loaded with grilled meat, still sizzling and dripping grease. “You gotta enjoy the moment, newbie,” he said, flashing me a grin. “It’s your welcome party.”

Before I could respond, a small but authoritative voice cut through the chatter.

“That’s right.”

Dr. Sequence nearly dropped his plate. “Holy fucking shit, that scared me!”

I followed his line of sight and found Mrs. Mind standing beside the pool. She looked about eight years old, wearing a bright pink bikini that fit her body’s childish frame, complete with inflatable tubes strapped to her arms. It was surreal seeing someone with the mind of a terrifying psychic warlord look like she was about to take swimming lessons.

She stood there, staring at the pool like it personally offended her. That was when a blur of blue light zipped behind her.

Before the tiny tyrant could react, Ning appeared, grinning like the devil. He scooped her up by the waist and, without hesitation, yeeted her straight into the pool.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha~!” Ning howled, hands on his hips as he watched her splash down. “You gotta love parties, man! They let you screw with your boss as much as you like!”

Dr. Sequence clapped him on the back. “Only if you’ve got your kind of bravery, buddy.”

The two of them fist-bumped like frat brothers celebrating a war crime.

From the pool, Mrs. Mind emerged sputtering, her curls sticking to her face. “Ning, you piece of shit!” she shouted, pointing her finger. “I am going to give you brain freeze!”

Thirdhand, who had been munching contentedly on a barbecue skewer, raised one hand, literally his face-hand. “I caught her, boss!” he announced.

Ning froze mid-laugh, trapped in a shimmering psychic field. His grin faltered. “Wait… wait, Mrs. Mind, let’s talk about thi—”

And then she did it.

Ning screamed, clutching his head, eyes wide. “Aaaaghh! It hurts! It hurts so much! Brain freeze! Brain freeze!”

Dr. Sequence nearly fell over laughing.

Thirdhand, trying to be helpful, released Ning, only to have the speedster tumble backward, right into the pool with a tremendous splash. Chlorinated water flew everywhere, soaking everyone nearby.

The girl who had been swimming, Missive, let out a yelp and bolted for the edge. Mrs. Mind followed, shrieking curses as Ning’s thrashing turned the clear blue water into a chemical disaster zone of lightning fury.

“Thirdhand!” Mrs. Mind snapped, stomping a small foot as she climbed out, dripping wet. “You idiot!”

Thirdhand blinked, or rather, flexed his face-hand in confusion. “Huh?”

Then she turned her glowing eyes on him.

“Your turn.”

Thirdhand’s fingers twitched once. Then he stiffened and fell face-first into the pavement with a loud thunk, probably from the brain freeze.

Dr. Sequence leaned toward me, still laughing. “Told you, rookie. Every party ends with someone dying inside.”

The meat sizzled on my skewer, the smell of burnt sauce and fat mixing with chlorine and cheap cologne. I bit into it slowly, savoring the taste, or trying to, anyway, when something changed in the air. The laughter, the noise, even the heat from the grill seemed to dull, like the world held its breath.

Then he appeared.

The Paleman.

He wore a long, weather-beaten trench coat that barely concealed the sickly gray of his skin. Veins pulsed beneath the surface, glowing faintly like cables alive with electricity. He didn’t have eyes, or ears, or a nose… just a smooth, featureless face, like someone had sculpted him out of wax and left him unfinished.

“Ah, Paleman!” Dr. Sequence exclaimed, raising his smoothie. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you! Minions, fetch Paleman his refreshments!”

One of his shirtless clones groaned, sweat dripping off his nose. “We are not your fucking minions!”

Another clone flipped him off. “Cunt!”

Despite the protest, they got to work anyway, setting up a table and chair like obedient servants in a madman’s court. The Paleman moved toward it with slow, deliberate steps, the air around him humming faintly. His presence had weight to it, like gravity was stronger wherever he walked.

I knew him by reputation alone. The Paleman was one of the most dangerous capes among the Ten: Shifter-5, Empath-5, Regenerator-5, and Teleporter-5. Four distinct power types in one body. It wasn’t just absurd. It was terrifying. That kind of power didn’t just happen. It was made.

One of the clones poured boiling water into a porcelain cup and handed it to him. The Paleman took it carefully, his long fingers wrapping around the cup with an eerie grace. He lifted it to where his mouth should have been.

He drank.

“See?” Dr. Sequence said cheerfully, watching like a proud parent. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s a good guy.”

A second clone arrived carrying a bucket. Whatever was inside sloshed wetly. The Paleman set his teacup down, and his jaw split open. Flesh tore like wet paper, and jagged teeth unfolded from the circular maw beneath.

The clone sighed and started pouring. Dozens of dead fish slid into the opening, their bodies vanishing into the darkness of his throat. The crunching sound that followed was wet and rhythmic, like bones ground by gears.

Dr. Sequence patted one of his clones on the back, satisfied. “Most often, he’s just misunderstood… Now, I’ll leave you to your devices, Eclipse. Enjoy the food. I’m going to find somewhere less... fishy.”

He walked off with his smoothie, his tropical shirt fluttering in the breeze. I was left staring at the Paleman, who calmly resumed drinking tea as if nothing had happened.

Honestly, I got the short end of the stick.

If I had the chance to be the party maker and get to strip a quota from my work just by throwing barbecues and watching shirtless clones argue, I’d give it everything I had.

Then again... maybe not. It probably wasn’t that convenient.

How often did they even recruit new members, anyway?

Several times over, maybe. But somehow, I doubted it was that simple.