by D W Bell
The strange beauty of it all was that, whatever the active substances in the plant were, the treatment seemed not to destroy cancer cells, as most modern methods purported and proposed to do, but actually rehabilitated and redeemed cancerous cells back into their original forms and specializations within the context of the appropriate system; essentially transforming them back into productive members of polite cell society. He had discovered this curious phenomenon in the initial testing of the plant as a single herb distillate against live cancer cells in a petri dish.
The true brilliance of Vine’s cloud-based lab was that it could be set to run tests on generations of mice in milliseconds, crunching loads of data and giving precision estimates of a chemical’s effectiveness before a traditional lab intern could inject rat one, but he often slowed it down just to watch the digital critters scamper across the screen; he found it quite soothing and rewarding to watch their simulated health improve by his work. Such was not the case with this run. In his excitement he ran it full tilt but kept the visual display up for a quick giggle as the test subjects streaked around the emulation at lightning speed. The results were positive. Eureka!
In a state of exhausted euphoria, the great elven druid Vinestalker logged into his gaming account, pinged his girlfriend for a little dirty private messaging on the side, and queued up for random raids to spread the healing power of Nature amongst the seething masses of the MMORPG in the never-ending epic struggle against evil and tyranny. It would be his last Lifebloom.
―
“The final aspect to consider, and what puts our service in a realm above all others, is our artistic vision; our custom touches, our signature flourishes, if you will.” Both men leaned back casually in their symbiotic sales dance as Boudreaux called the tune, “It simply wouldn’t do for the enemy of a man of principles (and principal) such as yourself to be allowed the dignity of quietly shuffling off this mortal coil and into obscurity after deigning to defy you, whether he intended the offence or not. He must be taught the truth of your principles in his final moments when there is true clarity, then released to the void with a method catered to the offense.”
“By these methods, the remaining transgressors will hear about your justice through the grapevine, without knowing who meted it out of course, cease their pointless and ill-advised research, and come to heel for the status quo in fear of paranoia-conjured demons who may visit the same fate upon their heads. Thereby inhibiting any further bothersome breakthroughs and making them easier to hunt and eradicate for our teams.”
“That certainly sounds promising, Boudreaux. But how is it artistic?”
“The devil is in the details, doc.” Boudreaux smirked at his laughing guest and used the pause to glance at the decanter of Lagavulin set between them, it was almost empty, “This is where I will really get to know you, if you’ll indulge me, the clearer and more direct you are with me about your true motivations the better result you will enjoy when all is said and done. Please, hold nothing back.”
“Well, as I said this guy will be the first of an ongoing arrangement for your teams to find and eliminate promising talent from the natural medicine movement.” The good doctor’s words were slurred as he looked down to ponder the scotch sloshing in his glass.
“And he’s dating your daughter, on the internet…” Boudreaux cast about trying to fish out more to work with, something juicy he could really get nasty with.
“Yeah, there’s that, but I’m not so concerned about all that really, I just happen to know he’s been getting close to a real discovery. She tends to taunt me with whatever he’s working on since she found out he used to work for me. It’s just we got to nip all this free cure stuff in the bud. Nip it in the bud!” Doc went a little drunken Barney Fife at the end, trying to make a joke and mask his feelings.
“Please, doctor. Man to man, I’m here to help.” Taking measure of his prey, he changed tactics and continued, “You know, most of the clients I work with want furious, wrath of god style vengeance, but I can sense you’re better than that. You aren’t ruled by the lower emotions. You, sir, are blessed with the analytical detachment of the true physician. You know the value of excising only malignant cells to allow the body of medicine to heal and flourish.”
Boudreaux scanned the man for changes in body posture and facial expression to verify if he was sailing the right tack through the murky waters of the doctor’s drunken reason. The shoulders rose and the neck crooked slightly at the sound of the flattery, so he let out more sail, “But, you are a compassionate, caring father. Your little girl is sadly mixed up in this unpleasant predicament, but you don’t want to hurt her feelings by having to deal with an obviously tortured and murdered boyfriend, which she may be called upon to identify in the morgue, or even an unexplained disappearance that could leave her with impossible hope and an inability to move on.” A flutter of the eyelids as the doctor raised his head confirmed interest so Boudreaux set the hook, “If I may be so bold, perhaps an accident pertinent to the hazards of his work would be appropriate?”
“An accident…” The doctor looked thoughtfully into the middle distance between them.
“Why, yes. It’s perfect. We have a natural pharmaceutical division of our own. But not to worry, doc, it’s just poisons and the like. No cures, but trust me our compounds will treat what ails you. We can prepare all sorts of plant-based pain that will get your point across while making things look like a tragic workplace accident and sparing daddy’s little girl from the hard truth.” Boudreaux reached across the desk to lift the handset of the ornate, antique desk phone from its cradle, “As a matter of fact I’ll have our poison expert come in and talk over some optio-”
“Fire,” the doctor interrupted with a hard look in his eye, “He loves to smoke so much, do it with fire.”
“Fire it is.” Boudreaux returned the phone to its cradle and smiled his closing smile, “Very good, sir.”
―
It was an older dungeon from the very first edition of the game. Before any expansions had added to the digital world, before rule changes and the ebb and flow of classes and game mechanics being declared OP, or over-powered, and then nerfed by game developers only to rise again in later patches, The Monastery stood on its hallowed hill; a bastion of discipline and zealotry.
The old abbey was a joke really. What was once an engrossing mid-saga/coming-of-age type dungeon was now just a backdrop for nostalgic, solo speed clears, using characters now twice or three times the original recommended level while taking a break from endgame content or farming low-level crafting materials. As a matter of fact, it had been one of Vine’s signature moves to squire new low-level girlfriends through the sanctified halls to impress them and fill their bags with loot. For some of these girls digital jewels and epic equipment sparkled brighter than actual gifts, and they thanked him with real-life, real-time visuals.
Mostly Vine and his cohorts did it just for fun, repeatedly. High and drunken smack talk over mic’d headsets was much more enjoyable when you were obliterating entire columns of red clad monks and priests with a single click; making it far less likely to spill your beer or burn a hole in your boxers.
As their favorite characters grew in power a silly thought popped up typed in party chat while the players basked in the afterglow of resetting a full-clear run. A fleeting inspiration triggered by the Hunter class ability to use area of effect, or AOE, ranged attacks and traps:
[Party][Nanuck]: You guys think we can do the whole thing in one pull?
[Party][Vinestalker]: I can tank it.
[Party][Bellsbane]: Dude, you’re a fucking tree. You heal.
[Party][Vinestalker]: STFU. I got bear form. Bears tank.
[Party][Nanuck]: Are you specced, Vine?
[Party][Vinestalker]: …
[Party][Bellsbane]: Fuck me, did he just shift and go in?
[Party][Nanuck]: Yah, lol.
[Party][Bellsbane]: Fuck.
[Party][Vinestalker]: Ahhhh! Tank
it! Tank it! It burns!
[Party][Nanuck]: Told ya, lol.
[Party][Bellsbane]: kek.
From this historic first wipe of the entire party, the idea of the elusive single pull clear continued to grow. Pulling the entire dungeon was actually impossible as it was divided into four separate instances tuned to specific levels, but they could test their tactics as they moved through the lower levels and then run them all through back to back.
It wasn’t as simple as it sounds. Circuitous pathways and well-timed taunts had to be flawlessly executed to keep the interest or aggro of the enemy mobs. If the lowest level ghoul or altar boy got loose and didn’t die in the great conflagration at the appointed trap spot the whole run was invalidated.
The Graveyard, which was the lowest level of The Monastery instances, hadn’t given them much trouble as it was relatively small and open compared to the other runs. The only tricky thing was gathering all the undead without getting stuck on the numerous tombstones, or behind a mausoleum out of range for a healing spell.
The Library, next up in the progression, was a bit trickier as it was all interior passageways with small rooms that could cause line of sight issues, both for party assistance and maintaining aggro. With a couple tricks from the Night Elf hunter and some pet-based abilities, Nanuck was able to successfully one-pull all the religious zealots on the map and incinerate them with an explosive trap, with the Gnome warlock Bellsbane raining hellfire, and the other Night Elf Vinestalker healing with his druid’s Lifebloom.
The layout of The Armory was easier to deal with, but the instance itself was more challenging to gather up for the big kill as certain events had to take place to trigger a flood of fresh enemies that otherwise would not appear. The trick here was to pull the rest of the instance in with the party to the end, rather than drag them all back to the entrance as had worked on the previous runs.
That left only one section left within The Monastery that hadn’t fallen to their small unit onslaught, and it had stonewalled their efforts up until now, literally. Still riding the high of his latest medicinal discovery, feeling all warm and fuzzy from the ministrations of his digital concubine, and seeing nothing of interest in the endgame raid queues Vine switched to guild chat:
[Guild][Vinestalker]: Who’s up to one-pull The Cathedral? Picked up some new tier pieces tonight and I’m feeling lucky!
Chapter 11
“John! Do come in. How’s the chest, son?” Boudreaux scrutinized his asset with an appraising eye; not the caring gaze of a concerned father as he tried to portray, but the calculating inspection of an owner trying to evaluate whether to shoot an injured thoroughbred. “Let’s have a look.”
John removed his shirt and stood at attention, eyes front. The injury was months old but continued to linger like a poison under the skin that still burned with searing pain when aggravated. The organization had the best doctors, nurses, and physical therapists money could buy, from former NFL trainers to seasoned combat medics. Despite the phenomenal medical treatment and rehabilitation facilities he was provided, his breathing remained labored and shallow while his pectorals had begun to atrophy around the wound, he just couldn’t fill his lungs without scorching pain.
They had even begun a course of traditional Chinese acupuncture which seemed to be the only thing that helped‒black, viscous, stagnant blood and pus seeped from the pinholes after each session‒ but it was slow going and painful. The little acupuncturist kept muttering something about blocked ch’i and how these types of injuries hadn’t been seen for a hundred years, but John did his best to ignore the pain and not show weakness, which he was sure would end him. At least the needles and incense seemed to have halted the wasting of muscle.
Boudreaux let out a low whistle, “Bless your heart! That Tie Quan did not disappoint, did he. That’s ‘Iron Fist’, as you can now testify to, in one of those chink dialects, but I was sure it was just some aggrandized sobriquet. All them celestials are ‘iron’ this, or ‘dragon’ that. Oh well, live and learn, eh, sport?” He looked John up and down once more with his false smile and penetrating eye. Satisfied that there were at least a few more races left in this beast before putting John out to pasture as a training dummy for the other recruits or sending him to the glue factory he continued. “For God’s sake get dressed, boy. Making me feel inadequate with those broad shoulders. Take a seat.”
John sat carefully on the edge of the proffered chair, partly to mask his diminished strength and partly because he truly didn’t know if this would be a briefing for a new mission or the most final of exit interviews
“A little trouble in Hong Kong, hmm?” Boudreaux leaned back and interlaced his fingers over his midsection while resting his elbows on the opulently carved and leather-trimmed arms of his desk chair. “Don’t worry, son. I don’t fault you specifically, the other asset’s little aquatic dalliance fucked with your timeline. I don’t accept excuses or failure, so let’s just say I’m giving you a pass for stumbling through your first dance. A consideration for your unexpected ineptitude as it were. I overestimated your abilities and was left wanting, but that is my cross of disappointment to bear. Truly, it was my fault for sending you into a situation that exceeded your competency.” John winced in physical pain from the cutting words. They were vocalized in soothing, almost apologetic tones, but the underlying malevolent message was clear; do not fuck up again.
“No excuses, sir. I will perform better next time. I will complete the mission without fail.” It felt good to leave thoughts of the Hong Kong breakdown behind. Analyze it, learn from it, and next time go harder, but never dwell on missteps for long. Dwelling on past failure will only make you hesitate at critical moments, which afford no time for indecision.
“Good man,” Boudreaux raised his ever-present glass in salute, “and as I said, blame does not rest solely on those big shoulders of yours. Although I figured you, of all men, knew something about controlling and putting a woman in her place, it was your partner’s flagrant breach of protocol that muddled the timing. She has been disciplined accordingly, and thoroughly.” The last words had turned cold and he let them hang resounding in the aether, all ominous portent, as he locked eyes with the man across the desk.
John blinked, he had noticed the conspicuous absence of his goddess, but had no way of knowing her fate after they fell together in a comatose embrace. Boudreaux noticed the spark as John put two and two together, “Good. I see we understand each other again. Shall we move on to new business?”
“Yes, sir. At your direction, sir.” John snapped back to hard-eyed discipline, silently vowing the little man would one day pay if he had hurt his beloved Freya.
Boudreaux freshened his drink and lit his customary slim cigar, using the ritual to mentally prepare for the delivery of his sales pitch. Everything is selling. Always be closing. “A father in distress has come to us seeking advice and assistance. It seems his beautiful teenage daughter has taken up with the wrong crowd and got herself a bit brainwashed by a sort of weed-smoking Svengali. One of these unwashed ‘natural’ types.”
He paused to keep the pacing conversational, “Yessir, I know. It doesn’t sound like our sort of thing on the face of it, does it. Well, John-boy, here’s the twist. This dirty pothead college dropout has just enough education to be dangerous, a pharmaceutical industry reject. He couldn’t function in the real world so now this hack is cooking up all-natural mind-control and date-rape drugs in his mom’s attic!”
Boudreaux stood to his feet and began to pace behind his desk scoffing for dramatic effect, “Can you believe this ungrateful loser? In his mother’s attic he’s perverting cuttings from her own garden into poisons to enslave young girls for the sick sexual needs of himself and his clients!” Slicking his hair back and pretending to regain his composure he returned to his seat center-stage and continued softly, “He mixes his herbal roofies upstairs in the attic and lures his victims to his lair downstairs in the basement. Poor girls don’t stand a chance.”
>
“Clients?” John listened intently, always a sucker for damsels in distress he was instantly hooked, but more importantly he listened to gather all the information he needed to avoid any unforeseen problems.
Boudreaux smirked to himself. This was really too easy after the mental conditioning his assets endured, but it was important to keep feeding them these terrible fairy tales for the process to stick. An assassin can be so much more effective and brutal if he believes he is some righteous warrior fighting the good fight. Just look at any flavor of crusader you like throughout history.
“Atta’boy, right to the crux of it! With the current societal acceptance of natural cures and the generally permissive view of cannabis, especially amongst the youth whom would be targeted, these herbal supplements, synthetic smokables, bath salts, or however the hell they are going to market this shit would be sealed in attractive, shiny foil packets and distributed throughout the country before the FDA even knew they existed.”
“Innocents would be raped and ruined before the government even procured a sample to analyze, making this bastard a millionaire overnight. And when the beakers and microscopes finally catch up and make it illegal, our man will reformulate the compounds, rebrand the packets, and make millions all over again. All the while pleasuring himself with the defenseless daughters of our client and others in his depraved field tests.”
“What will be the procedure for this mission?” Any indecision or doubt that may have tingled in the back of John’s mind had passed away, replaced with righteous fury to combat evil, as he had been programmed.
