Mortimer, page 29
part #6 of Everybody Loves Large Chests Series
Except for his Honoka, of course. He would take her away from this horrible, dark place that had corrupted her judgement and robbed her of her innocence. No longer would she be forced to torture innocents or work herself half to death in the name of corrupt, pointless ideals. Zilla would give her a new life, an existence free of want and need. He would close himself around her once more, keeping her protected within his embrace, where she would be free from all pain and suffering.
Forever.
Chapter Four
Upheaval
Part One
“Hello, Professor Honoka. Ma’am.”
“Mr. Simmons.”
The two elves professionally greeted each other in front of the adamantite bulkhead leading to Specimen 68’s containment cell. Zilla was, as always, following behind the overweight Alchemist. The near-dozen Foundation grunts stationed here were all standing at attention on their side of the door. They did not dare slack off when Simmons was around, especially not after he had been informed about yesterday’s hat incident.
“I take it you’re here to continue your treatment, ma’am?”
Simmons jerked his head towards his left, where Honoka’s assistants were already set up and waiting for her.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “Yesterday’s mixture didn’t last long, so I’m hoping we get better results today.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, why even bother taking breaks? Why not just dose the thing fifteen times in a row or something? I know I’m no Alchemist, but this seems like a huge waste of time.”
The short answer to that question was that it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. A longer explanation would begin with the revelation that overdosing a subject on Attitude Adjuster would mentally neuter it, rendering it incapable of independent thought. There was a time and place for turning monsters into mindless weapons, Specimen 68 was a special case. The shapeshifter’s Status revealed an immense talent for deception and destruction in equal measure. It wasn’t some dumb brute that charged enemies head on. The Foundation intended to have Boxxy infiltrate, sabotage, and potentially cripple organizations and governments that were deemed a threat to the Republic, with the Gilded Hand sitting squarely on the top of that list. The shapeshifter couldn’t do any of that if it couldn’t think for itself.
However, the former Legionnaire was far too low in the Foundation’s pecking order to be told any of that, even if Honoka was so inclined.
“Need-to-know basis, Mr. Simmons,” was her reply.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You should already know that, though,” she raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Has it been making trouble again?”
“Not quite trouble, ma’am. Just a whole lot of noise. You can barely even hear it from the outside, but it sounds like it’s trying to claw its way out of there.”
The Stasis Field made a distinct scraping sound whenever something sharp and hard was dragged against it, usually accompanied by a slew of sparks if the applied force was strong enough. It was exactly what Simmons and his men had been listening to all morning.
“It stops the instant we walk in there to check on it,” he continued, “and starts back up when we walk out. I’d like to hear your opinion on this, ma’am.”
“I believe it’s just trying to psych you out, Mr. Simmons. It can’t harm you physically, so it’s trying to mess with your nerves.”
“But why, though?”
“Because it’s a sick, twisted asshole that likes to watch us squirm.”
“… Whatever you say, ma’am.”
Honoka’s opinion may have been biased, but it wasn’t far from the truth. Boxxy was intentionally putting the guards on edge. The more uneasy the grunts felt around it, the more likely Zilla was to be asked to keep an eye on it. And it was during those times that the two of them could scheme without any repercussions or fear of spying. Provided they kept their voices down, of course.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a monster to manage.”
The Lifebinder Alchemist went over to the portable lab station and began preparing today’s dose, going through the same motions as before. However, while the ingredients and the order in which they were introduced to the silver pot were the same, the amounts were ever-so-slightly different. Honoka had decided to tweak the mixture slightly to maximize the strength of the chemical incentive in an effort to avoid debacles like yesterday. Admittedly, this would make the mixture slightly more unstable and reduce the amount of time it affected Specimen 68, but she believed it was a necessary adjustment.
If she never heard about the nuanced flavor of the human brain again, it would be far too soon.
The soft clacking and ticking of her alchemical instruments was suddenly interrupted by a pair of brisk footsteps coming from one end of the hallway. Honoka was thoroughly ignoring the approaching Foundation guard, but the others threw him questioning glances. Except for Zilla, who wouldn’t look away from Honoka’s masterful display of dexterity and knowledge for anything.
“Excuse me, Mr. Simmons, Professor Honoka?” said the newcomer with a curt salute. “Director Gehana wants to know why Specimen 49 hasn’t reported to his office yet.”
Alright, almost anything. This was something Zilla couldn’t ignore – not just yet, anyway – so for the moment he stuck to his guns and played dumb.
“Was I supposed to do something like that?”
“He claims you should have been informed of this more than twelve hours ago.”
“Yeah, I definitely told Zilla about it,” chimed in one of the lab assistants.
“You most certainly did not,” calmly replied the shapeshifter. “You told me the good Professor was looking for me. Not that I needed to go speak to him.”
Realization dawned on the assistant’s face, which promptly collided with his right palm. It was a known fact that, while Zilla was perfectly obedient to Foundation personnel and respected its chain of command, it was still an exceptionally literal creature. Implied or ambiguous orders sometimes produced questionable results. The only one at fault for the living weapon missing his appointment with the director was the lab rat himself.
“Dude, you would make a terrible Warlock,” remarked his colleague.
“Not funny, Miguel!” he snapped back. “Malon’s going to have my hide for this!”
“Gentlemen, please,” Simmons reprimanded them in a firm yet quiet tone. “Let’s not disturb the Professor’s work.”
There was hardly any risk of that, though. Honoka wouldn’t mess up her mixture even if the room around her was filled with naked clowns killing each other with crossbows. The only way to make her hand slip was to physically disturb her, and even then she was unlikely to mess up. Simmons was aware of her unshakable focus, but reminding the nerds to mind their tongues was more about discipline and respect towards one’s superiors.
“Specimen 49, go to Director Gehana and see what he wants from you,” he ordered. “And make it quick.”
“Right away, Mr. Simmons.”
Zilla begrudgingly tore himself away from Honoka’s side. The timing of this was a little unfortunate, but it was his own damn fault for shirking his responsibilities for so long. Well, no, that scumbag Malon was actually at fault here. The whole reason he requested these meetings was so he could question Zilla regarding Honoka’s personal life, eager to unearth any dirty secrets he could use against her. The pitiable man felt threatened by her, having convinced himself that the chubby woman was gunning for his post as facility director. Surely, he thought, Professor Honoka’s popularity meant it was only a matter of time before she replaced him.
He was so wrong that Zilla actually found it a bit funny. In actuality, that woman hadn’t once considered taking such a heavily managerial position. Honoka loved to immerse herself in her work, and endless meetings, security briefings, budget balancing, and committee hearings was not her idea of ‘work.’ She was doing alchemy for alchemy’s sake, and the purity of her intentions shone through her actions and the quality of her creations. Compared to someone like Malon who had taken the ‘easy’ way up to Level 100 by dabbling in risky and forbidden practices, she was practically an angel.
Regardless, that flat-faced hobgoblin had recently gotten it in his head he might lose his influence. He decided to secure his position through slander and politics since he didn’t feel confident in his abilities. It was a thoroughly pointless effort, as the Foundation knew every excruciating detail about its employees’ past. There was nothing Malon would learn that they weren’t already aware of, making this whole act so futile it couldn’t even be called an ‘exercise.’ It was simply an embarrassment. Still, orders were orders, and the sentient wardrobe had a Facade to maintain. He was a bit worried his former owner might ask Boxxy some damning questions, but he was confident it wouldn’t come to that. He had already convinced her earlier that morning that he should be there for all further questioning, so she wouldn’t start the interrogation without him.
Zilla walked through a labyrinth of metal corridors and branching paths until he reached a large, spiral staircase. The prisoner containment cells were on the lowest floor of the facility to minimize the risk of escape, so he had to climb all the way up to the top. He would normally do so on foot like a regular person, but this time he had certain circumstances to consider. He was eager to return to Honoka’s side, not to mention he was told to go meet Malon ‘quickly.’ With that wording as an excuse, he slipped out of his coat and leather breastplate and grew a pair of feathery wings from his back. A mighty beat combined with a magical updraft sent him darting straight up. He ascended rapidly through the large gap in the middle of the cylindrical staircase chamber, reaching his destination in a matter of seconds. Once there, he undid his transformation, put his gear back on, and greeted the thoroughly surprised guards with a small wave before passing through the door between them.
Beyond was a small, barren office, pretty much identical to Honoka’s. A youthful man with short gray curls and a pair of thick glasses was seated at the room’s sole desk. He looked up from the stack of papers in front of him and greeted Zilla with a polite business smile.
“Ah, hello, Specimen 49. Director Gehana is waiting for you inside.”
“Thank you, Theodore.”
The man returned to his secretarial duties while Zilla approached the door behind his desk. However, when he got closer to the door to the director’s office and raised a hand to knock, the shapeshifter noticed something out of the ordinary.
“Hey, Theodore?”
The secretary didn’t even bother to look up from his desk as he replied, “Yes?”
“Is there someone in there with the Director?”
“No. You’re the first visitor he’s had all day, actually.”
“Then why is his door ajar?”
The Scribe’s Never-ending Quill came to a sudden halt as his head turned towards the door in front of Zilla with a puzzled look.
“I don’t… know…” he muttered.
Malon wasn’t the kind of guy to leave his office door slightly open. In fact, he made a point of keeping it locked at all times. Visitors had to knock, announce themselves, then wait for him to let them in, otherwise they didn’t get to see him. The only possible way it would be left open was if someone was already inside, yet his secretary denied this was the case. Having confirmed something was amiss, Zilla barged into the room without further hesitation. Much like the other offices in the compound, it was painfully plain and bland since most big-shots kept their personal belongings in their quarters rather than their working space. Still, this room had a few significant differences that put it aside from the others. Things such as the two rows of portraits on the right wall, the extra-large and opulent mahogany desk, the six or so potted plants lining the bookshelves, and the checkered carpet in the middle of the room.
The massive bloodstain and dead body on top of said carpet were new additions to the decor, as was the hooded figure looming over it with a bloodied dagger in hand. This intruder was obviously neither man nor elf, as the skin-tight pitch-black bodysuit he was wearing revealed a disproportionately thick torso and ankles so elevated that they looked like an extra pair of reversed knees. The upper part of his face was covered by a pearly-white skull-themed mask, which seemed to accomplish little. After all, the whole world could see the long crocodile-like snout poking out from beneath. The same went for the large talons on his four-toed feet and the thick muscular tail behind him. Last but not least, all of the intruder’s visible parts were covered in a layer of rough-yet-flexible brown scales.
This stranger was undoubtedly a raptor, a race of lizard-like humanoids that hailed from the dense jungles of the continent to the far south. There was only one bog-stalker in existence that would find himself in the middle of a subterranean government black site while standing over the corpse of the facility’s Taboo-ridden director. There was no doubt in Zilla’s mind that this was an assassin renowned the world over as Mortimer’s garbage man – the Hero of Death himself, Accatau of clan Rakka.
*RRRUMBLE*
Their silent stand-off was broken up by a sudden quake that shook the entire compound. As if taking the disturbance as a signal, the bipedal alligator sprang towards the exit. Zilla misinterpreted the escape attempt as aggressive action against him and responded with deadly force on reflex.
“Thunder Lance!”
Moving with speed and agility that belied his thick build, the Hero of Death slid under the conjured lightning bolt, making it strike and obliterate the desk behind him. He slashed at his opponent with his serrated dagger, which failed to penetrate the basilisk scales and defensive Skills of the Foundation’s secret weapon. However, that wasn’t entirely because Zilla’s hide was incredibly sturdy. Accatau wasn’t even trying to puncture it in the first place. He merely wished to scratch the surface of this obstacle, marking his body with a cross-cut that immediately began glowing bright red.
[Life is a promise. Death – its fulfillment.]
[Your injuries will not heal for the next 24 hours.]
[Automatic HP and MP recovery are now disabled.]
Zilla immediately paused upon seeing the notification. The Mend Flesh Skill was an incredibly potent battle asset and pretty much the whole reason his body had been infused with a Queen Slime Job. Though by no means his only defense, he grew more wary of an opponent who sealed away one of his key skills so abruptly. It also confirmed that his opponent was indeed a Hero. After all, who else but an envoy of the Gods would have this sort of unfair Skill?
Fatal Promise wasn’t the only Hero Skill available to Accatau, for he also possessed the Eyes of the Dead God. A simple glance at someone would inform him of their true name and the amount of HP they had left. It highlighted people with high Taboo, allowing the Hero of Death to see them clearly through solid matter. This went triple for Malon, whose heretical act of forcibly resurrecting one of the Gods’ chosen, had caused his Taboo Skill to max out at Level 10. At that point, he was visible to Accatau from hundreds of kilometers away and buried deep underground. That was how the raptor had tracked his target so quickly, though he had to borrow a bit of ‘help’ locating the entrance to this place. And now that his target was dead, he had no wish to waste time fighting the creature in front of him.
“Sssstand down, Wardrobzilla,” he hissed quietly. “You are not my prey, but I will not hesitate to disssspose of you if you stand in my way.”
Zilla took stock of the Hero’s words and calmly evaluated the situation. On one hand, this reptile had denied him the pleasure of ripping out that sniveling bastard’s still-beating heart and showing it to him, not to mention he slashed up his favorite armor. On the other hand, he nearly died the last time he tangled with a Hero, and with Malon gone he no longer had a Soulstone insurance policy. So, Zilla lowered his guard, calmly stood aside, and let the assassin exit the office without much incident. He heard Theodore let out a surprised yelp when he saw the hired killer that had slipped past him just minutes ago, but what really made Zilla’s ears burn right now was the alarm that had been blaring ever since that quake. He exited the office moments later, noting that Accatau had already vanished and the late Director Gehana’s assistant was cowering under his desk.
“S-S-S-Specimen 49!” he called out when he saw Zilla standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?!”
“Calm down, boy! I might as well ask you the same thing – what’s this alarm about?!”
“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” blared a slightly distorted voice over the emergency announcement system. “Breach detected at sector B-24! All hands, move to repel the intruders! I repeat – the facility has been breached at sector B-24!”
“Well, that answers that,” mumbled Zilla under his breath.
“What about the director?!” screamed the elf. “Who or what was that thing that came out just now?!”
“Oh, that? Just an assassin, nothing to worry about.”
“Just a what?! Then the director- How could you just let him go like that?!”
“Because I’m not an idiot who doesn’t know when he should keep his head down.”
The sniveling elf was summarily kicked in the head, relieving the rest of his body of that useless burden in the process. His corpse slumped to the ground, spurting blood everywhere from his ravaged neck stump as Zilla pondered the timing involved in the intruders’ arrival. Was it somehow connected with the very successful attempt on Malon’s life? Of course it was. It had to be. There was no way this was a big coincidence. Maybe the raptor arranged for this major distraction so that he could slip out of this place easier? It seemed plausible to say the least. If nothing else, Zilla would have done much the same in the Hero’s place should the opportunity have presented itself.
