Interlude - Francisca Ojou

Interlude - Francisca Ojou Francisca would never admit it to anyone, but she was terrified. It was worse when that brute left the room, which was ironic, wasn't it? The man was a kidnapper, and yet he was someone, at least. When he left, she was alone in the dark. When had that last happened? When had she last been alone? Truly alone? The room was cold. She was wearing a suit pulled out of her wardrobe minutes before leaving the house. It was meant for sitting in a meeting, for looking good for any passing paparazzi--though she was hardly so famous--and for the sake of presentability. Alone, and cold. The cold didn't bother her so much, really. If someone asked her, she'd say that the thing she feared most was failure. It was a trite, yet somewhat truthful answer. The reality was slightly different. As long as she was successful, then she wouldn't be alone. Autophobia is what her very expensive therapist called it. In her mind, she called it a stupid weakness, one unbecoming of someone of her station, and honestly one that was easy to work around. She had... friends, of a sort. She had peers, bodyguards, staff. She made sure that her penthouse was always busy, that there were always people around. It meant spending a lot of time at work where she could surround herself with others. The praise that came with that was welcome as well, but it was secondary. And now, she was all alone once more. Where was her rescue? It had been a night already. If a team of Special Operations agents hadn't broken into the portal already, then what were the chances that they'd be arriving soon? The kidnapper had been calm, self-assured, bored. Not the attitude of a man aware of hostage negotiations, but the boredom of a professional doing a job. She watched him now as he walked by. He barely glanced at her, preoccupied with listening to something on his augs, with swinging his little club around. Then the lights went out. She jumped at the sudden change, then felt her chest constrict as her tiny cell suddenly felt much smaller. She stepped back, calf bumping against her bucket--and wasn't that a massive slap in the face of her dignity--and reached out to touch one of the humid stone walls for balance. "Fucking hell," the kidnapper muttered. Soon a light broke into the darkness. A flashlight he had clipped to his belt. "What now?" he said before stomping off. He took the light with him. She was alone now. In the dark. The cold started to seep in, though it couldn't realistically be any closer. She hugged herself, allowing that much in this lonely dark where no one would see her being so weak. He'd be back. The lights had just gone out. It was a shoddy operation, probably. Hopefully. He'd be back soon enough. God, what a mess she was, hoping that her kidnapper would return so that she wouldn't be alone for a few minutes? She was better than this. She was supposed to be a professional. There was a strange sound, a crack and crinkle, then faint green light poured out of the darkness. Francisca tensed as a figure moved up to stand before her, across the bars. Not one of the kidnappers. A woman, with a gas mask, casually holding a glowstick by her side and dressed in strange gear that left some of her hips and shoulders exposed. "Wh--" she began, but the woman raised a hand over her mask in a shushing gesture. "Not too loud. We don't want them to hear us," the woman said. She was calm. Not bored, but confident. "In about twenty minutes you will hear three knocks from that door. When that happens, I need you to start talking to the guard. Grab his attention." "What?" she asked. "I believe you understood me, Miss Ojou," the woman said, still as calm. She might have been a CEO informing a middle-manager that the coffee machine needed replacing. It was rote, but also strangely calming. Competent. "Three knocks. They won't be loud. Then you attract his attention and don't look towards the door. Once that's done, I'll be escorting you out of here, understood?" She nodded. "I understand. Are you Special Operations?" "No," the woman said. Of course she wasn't. They went out in tactical gear, armour, not... a leotard so form fitting it looked painted on in places. "I'm Deadline. I'm here to save you." "I... see," she replied, doubtful. She really didn't. Then she met the woman's eyes under the brim of her cap. The lights came on, and she blinked, but the woman hadn't so much as flinched. She had periwinkle eyes. Soft, a little tired, though not physically so. "You're not alone. Not as long as I'm here," the woman said. She nodded to Francisca, then casually walked over to the door at the end of the hallway and left. Francisca stared after her. A minute later, her guard was back, looking as bored as before. So, she waited. For some reason, the fear in her felt dampened. A fire smothered in a warm, wet blanket. Who was that? Who had sent her? It couldn't be Special Operations, and she wasn't one of Redline's C or B rankers. Francisca knew all of them by name and face. Another corporation's agent? But there had been no marking, corporate or guild. She tried to remember other details, but nothing came to her, just the eyes, the confidence. She jumped when she heard a faint knock. Three times, with several seconds between each. The guard looked up a little. So she rushed to the door. "Hey," she said. "Forgive me, but what happened?" "What?" he asked. "The lights? What happened to the lights? I'd rather not be stuck in the dark again, if I can avoid it. Already bad enough that--" she saw movement from the doorway, almost lost her train of thought, but pushed through. "Bad enough that I'm stuck here with a bucket and little to no food. You can at least afford me some light." "Tch. Calm your tits, corpo," he replied. "Nothing'll happen to your precious lights. One of the clamps on a booster fell off. Literally nothing, so cal--" There was a whistle through the air, then a loud, wet smack. The man was thrown forwards where he ran face-first into the wall next to her cell. And then arms were around his neck. She didn't know too much about non-sword related martial arts, but she knew enough to recognize a chokehold. The man's eyes went wide, but the blow to the head, the bump against the wall, and now this, he was confused, didn't act to break the hold until his face was already turning red, then blue, then his struggles turned into feeble gestures. The woman... Deadline, lowered him to the ground. There was a hammer next to her. A warhammer. Old and rusty. "You could have killed him with that," Francisca said before her mind caught up with her. Deadline looked up. She had a hand in the man's coat pocket already, and removed a ring of keys. How had she known? "He'll be concussed at worst," she said. "And it'll put him down for longer." The keys went into the lock. The lock came undone. Deadline gently placed it down. She had a backpack on, which she half-removed and quickly pulled something out. A can of lubricant? She sprayed the hinges, then opened the door. "Quick. Stay silent." Francisca slid out, then watched as the woman grabbed the guard by the legs and tugged him into her cell before walking over his comatose form, closing the door, and scooping up the lock. In moments Francisca had gone from being the captive to the captor. "This way," Deadline said. She reached over, and Francisca almost jumped as a warm hand took hers. That was... violating! Not literally, her logical mind jumped in to assure her that this kind of touch was fine. The kidnappers had manhandled her and searched her as well. But they hadn't grabbed her hand like this. It was a stupid, distracting thought. They were in the next room in moments, and Deadline was once again shifting her backpack around. She handed Francisca a headband with a light on it, turned it on to banish the dark, then helped her place it on her head. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "Here's a second flashlight, in case. Ah, and here, you know how to use swords, correct?" Francisca soon had a saber in hand. Deadline had plucked it from next to the door. There was another sword by the doorway, this one in a pristine blue leather sheath, with a decorated hilt. Deadline took that one from the middle, then gestured further in. She had a light on at her hip, weaker than the one Francisca had, but enough in the near-total darkness. "This way." She followed. She had a lot of questions, but understood that this wasn't the time for them. They arrived at a set of steps and Deadline paused. "Forgive the smell. The zombies have a particular stench to them." Her voice was strange, muffled by the mask, but still her apology felt genuine. "Zombies?" Francisca hissed. "They're dealt with." Then entered a room. A torture room. There were seats with straps, implements on small trays. And two rotting corpses on the ground. The stench hit her like something physical, but she kept her complaints down. The bones... suggested more undead. "This way," Deadline said. "Where are we going?" "Portal exit. I've cleared every room except for the boss." "All of them?" Francisca asked. "Yes. You're in no danger. Don't worry. I have this down to a science." She followed. They entered a long corridor. There were destroyed skeletons on the ground. They entered another room. A morgue. More dismembered and crushed undead. This many... Francisca was vaguely aware that these weren't too high of a threat, but so many, in only twenty minutes? Then they entered another room, more cave-like. Two larger, more equipped undead were here. Both of them bore large holes in their chests, and their heads were removed from their bodies. "The boss is in the next room," Deadline said. "An undead knight of some sort. Well-armoured. Fast." "What do we do?" Francisca asked. Deadline glanced back, and she could tell that there was humour in those pale blue eyes. "Watch. Laugh, if you're so inclined." Francisca didn't know what she meant, but she followed Deadline anyway. The boss's room was a large, open space. There was a starry sky overhead, a dusting of clouds. But Francisca's focus fell on the boss. He was massive. A skeleton, though she wasn't sure of that, in full plate armour. The boss stood, reached over, grabbed a rusted sword that Francisca was certain she herself couldn't lift with both arms, and the boss swung it around with ease. Deadline pulled a large revolver from a thigh pouch, aimed it, and shot. The boss stumbled, one knee exploding. Another shot, the boom like thunder, echoing in the room. The other knee burst apart, and the boss fell. Deadline walked over, aimed down, and shot the boss in the back of his helmeted head. She reloaded the revolver with ammunition pulled from a pocket. "Stand by the portal," she instructed. When we're through, the guards inside will come out as well. They'll be suffering though, in no condition to fight. But there are two guards remaining outside." "Two?" Francisca asked. "I took care of the third," Deadline replied. "I'm going to capture one and shoot the other... non-lethally. Once that's done, we leave. Don't panic and run, understood?" Francisca nodded. Deadline turned, meeting her eyes. "I need you to stay with me, no matter what." She swallowed. "Okay." Deadline put her gun away, moved to a large chest, and kicked it open with casual ease. She pulled out a book from within, flipped through it. Francisca recognized crude spellwork. The book was a grimoire. Not the most uncommon of loot, but valuable. Likely it only held one to three spells, none stronger than the level of the portal itself. Still, the patent on a new spell could be worth a small fortune. Deadline stuffed it into her backpack. The sword as well, then she moved over to the undead knight and undid his armour. The way she moved... Francisca had seen the like. Ballet dancers mid-routine, experts doing something they'd done a thousand times. It was impressive. It was, she realized, something past mere professionalism. This was someone who'd perfected something in action, only... how? Was Deadline this strong? But no, nothing that Francisca had seen her do was beyond even an E-ranker. Who was this woman? How... how could Francisca be even a little bit like her. Confident, fearless, capable? Deadline stood, a gem in her hand the size of a thumbjoint. She tucked it into a pocket, then looked to Francisca. "Ready?" Francisca shuffled, calming herself. "I am." "I'll go through the portal first. Follow me after a count of five." Francisca nodded. Then she watched Deadline shifted, moving into a runner's stance. "Start counting... now!" Deadline ran, and jumped through. Francisca counted to five, then jumped through the portal herself, still clutching onto that rusty sword. She landed in the middle of a complicated scene. Behind her, the portal, shifting and destabilizing now that no one remained in the boss room. Before her, Deadline, an arm wrapped around the neck of a woman, her other hand holding her revolver pointed at a man with extensive cybernetics. "Who the fuck--" the woman was saying. Then she froze. "What was that? What was that spell?" Deadline spoke, with a calm, bored detachment, but also a clear authority. It made them listen. It made Francisca listen too. "That spell was a C-ranked spell called Deadman's Heart Ripper. It's a Void spell. I've cast it on you already. Now, if I die, or if I feel like it, your heart will split in half. Unless you're a very talented Void mage, I don't think you can stop it. If you don't wish to die, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. Cool down as well. I see one trail of smoke coming from you and you'll be heartbroken about it." The woman froze, started to shake, her anger was replaced by something primal. Terror? "No, no no no," she was saying. The revolver never moved from the man with the cybernetics. "No, we can all--" he began. Then, fast as a snake, he started to move, a gun came up from the small of his back. Deadline shot him in the joint of his elbow. The arm went flying, gun too. Two more shots took him out at the knees. Deadline slowly let go of the woman. "Remain here. Don't give me cause to trigger that spell." She said. Behind Francisca the portal snapped and three men fell to the ground, groaning, confused. One of them vomited. "Time to go," Deadline said. Francisca followed. They were in a warehouse, and then they were on the street. Deadline reached into a backpocket and removed a small, cheap cellphone. "Contact the police," she said as she gave it to Francisca. "Start moving as well, before they realize that there's no such thing as Deadman's Heart Ripper." Francisca accepted the phone, then looked up. "Thank you," she said. Where were the others? The rest of Deadline's team? Only.. no, this was one woman's operation. One person doing what Special Operations had failed to do, what the guilds under Redline likely failed to do as well. Something burned in her chest. "You're welcome," Deadline said. "I'll contact you about the bill over the course of the week. Don't worry. My rates are very reasonable. Have a good day, Miss Ojou. I hope we meet under better circumstances." And with that, she turned, and walked off. Francisca snapped out of it. She felt... lighter, brighter, somehow. A side effect of the sudden freedom? No matter! She dialed 9-1-1 and was jogging down the street as a dispatcher answered. She'd find out soon enough. And then she'd find out all she could about Deadline as well. ***