by Neven Iliev
Admittedly, their voices were a bit muffled with the bag in the way, but it wasn’t an issue for Boxxy’s fine-tuned ears.
“I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you hadn’t put her on high alert with your shoddy performance. You’re lucky no guards saw us, or you’d be dodging a lot more than responsibility.”
The one called ‘K’ let out a low groan as his partner hammered home the point that the botched ambush was primarily his own fault.
“Well, the mission was a success in the end, right?” he pleaded. “I mean, we secured the target without drawing any undue attention. No need to mention the little details to the boss, yeah?”
“... I suppose you have a point,” the other conceded. “Fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut, but you owe me one. And you better believe I’ll collect on it.”
“I quiver with anticipation,” he said with overflowing sarcasm.
The two of them went silent as they entered the more densely populated areas of the city, but they had already said quite a bit. First of all, they apparently had a good deal of information on Keira, enough to make a file on her. This troubled Boxxy as it had no idea how its alter ego earned this kind of attention. Secondly, those two were indeed part of some organization, and judging from the man’s tone, ‘the boss’ wasn’t the forgiving type. Last but not least, the shapeshifter had the distinct impression it was dealing with a criminal organization as opposed to a clandestine government agency. This opened up the option of having the Sandman show up to wipe out the villainous scum.
“Claws, where are they taking me?” Boxxy reached out to its familiar.
Even if the shapeshifter’s MLG could peer through the bag to keep track of its surroundings, its ten-meter range was far too short to accurately discern what part of the city it was in.
“Towards the north end of the city, Master,” Drea replied. “Looks like they’re headed straight for the commercial district.”
This was interesting. That part of the city was where all kinds of deals were made – from small trades between individuals to monumental agreements between guilds. It also had several peculiar buildings called ‘banks.’ Boxxy wasn’t too sure exactly what people did in there, nor did it care. The only thing it cared about was that they contained massive amounts of money protected by the finest magical and non-magical security measures said money could buy. The shapeshifter was wary of approaching such places for fear of exposing its true nature, but absconding with the vast wealth within their underground vaults was certainly a future project.
Interestingly enough, a bank was precisely where Keira’s abductors took their captive. This particular establishment was called ‘Namhel Bros. Commercial Services.’ The large foyer on the ground floor was lavishly decorated, well-lit, and heavily guarded. Most wealthy businesses were secure, but this was a step above the rest. It even had attractive employees in sharp uniforms that were running errands for the bank’s affluent clientele, such as fetching tea or delivering packages.
The female kidnapper casually queued up at one of the tellers while K walked towards a guard.
“Excuse me?” he spoke softly.
“Yes? Something I can help you with, sir?”
“I have a package for Mr. Namhel. The elder one. He should be expecting me.”
“Understood, sir. Please have a seat while I confirm the details.”
He gestured to the large sofa next to the wall, and K obediently took a seat. The guard pulled out a Comm-crystal and spoke to a young woman for about a minute. After receiving an affirmative answer, he escorted K into the back and led him up a grand staircase to the building’s third and final floor. The two of them briskly walked down the carpeted hallway leading to a door with a gold-plated plaque:
Reginald Namhel
Chief Executive Officer and Co-founder
Beyond the door was a small office, its only occupant the woman the guard contacted earlier. The small sign on her desk identified her as the personal assistant to the big man himself. She greeted the two visitors with a small smile and directed them towards the door next to her desk. It looked exactly like the one Boxxy had been carried through moments ago, but the fact its MLG failed to peer into the room beyond it was alarming. Its sudden short-sightedness was a clear sign that the place had been warded against eavesdropping, magical or otherwise. The conference room in Fort Yimin was similarly protected, so this wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation. Yet Boxxy couldn’t help but feel that such precautions were out of place in a civilian establishment.
The creature’s sense of incongruity only grew deeper when it was taken inside. The office was both unnecessarily wide and remarkably plain. Surely, a big shot’s workspace would have at least some shinies lying around, right? Especially when it had those military-grade magical wards around it. Yet, instead of golden statues or an indoor fountain, it simply had tasteful furniture around the desk in the middle, a few old portraits hanging from the walls, and several bookcases and cupboards strewn about the place. Even the secretary’s much smaller office looked more luxurious by comparison.
The owner of the room stood next to one of the tall windows staring down at the street.
“Excuse me, Mr. Namhel?” the guard called out, “Your delivery is here.”
The owner of the room – and indeed most of the bank – turned around.
Simply put, Reginald Namhel was an older elf who had aged gracefully. He had a thick, well-kempt beard and a full head of slicked-back, chestnut-brown hair peppered with streaks of grey. He was noticeably more thick-jawed than the average elf, giving him a slightly more rugged appearance. His body was draped in a fancy-looking dark blue suit, concealing a set of muscles one wouldn’t expect from a pencil pusher. The creaseless trousers stopped just above his ankles, giving the whole world a glimpse at his dress shoes. Boxxy didn’t like most of the outfit, but it somewhat approved of the footwear. The polished, jet black leather was the only remotely shiny thing on the man’s person.
"Ah, Kevin!" Reginald exclaimed with a jovial voice. "Thank you so much for doing me this favor."
"It was no bother, sir," ‘Kevin’ answered and set his luggage down on the ground.
"No need to be modest, my dear lad! I know full well how heavy those things can be. Come, let me treat you to a drink for your troubles."
"I really shouldn’t, sir. I have more work to do."
"Nonsense! I insist! And if anyone gives you any lip over it, send them my way!"
“When you put it that way, it would be rude of me to decline," he shrugged.
"That’s the spirit! Ah, you may leave us now, Mr. Morx."
"As you say, Mr. Namhel," the guard nodded and left the room.
The instant he slammed the door shut, the older elf’s good mood disappeared instantly, his generous smile replaced by a stern scowl.
"You’re late, K," he said sternly.
"I know. We didn’t get a good opportunity to quietly secure the package until about an hour ago."
"Hm. I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t let it happen again. Just wake her up and get her ready for the interview."
K did as commanded and took out the still ‘unconscious’ Keira from his bag. He seated her in one of the cushioned armchairs then walked over to a nearby cupboard. He rummaged inside and took out a thick, dull, grey metal collar and a pair of matching shackles. He placed the collar around Keira’s neck while the shackles bound her wrists. Although they appeared a few sizes too big for the slender catgirl, the magic items quickly shrank in size until they dug into her tanned skin. They lit up with a number of reddish runes and began greedily devouring the captive’s MP.
Boxxy reacted by stealthily turning the flesh beneath its restraints into bronze via Metal Mimicry. The Skill could only replicate mundane metals, and that was the only candidate that was highly resistant to magic. The shapeshifter had personally verified bronze-forged gear’s excellence at deflecting supernatural attacks and effects during its Mercenary Guild days. However, that p
articular trait came with some heavy downsides. Not only were bronze items relatively fragile and nigh-impossible to enchant, but they also interfered with the activation of most Spells and Martial Arts. They could even prevent the use of some Skills.
Thankfully, it didn’t affect either Shapeshift or Metal Mimicry, so Boxxy could cut off the MP-draining effects by drastically reducing the area of skin-to-cuff contact without the others in the room realizing. The pair waited around patiently for a few minutes until they were sure their captive was sucked dry. K then reached into his coat and produced a vial of what looked like an all-purpose antidote. He lifted the catgirl’s head and dumped its contents into her mouth.
Keira’s eyes slowly opened. She blinked a few times, moaned groggily, then suddenly jerked wide awake.
"Who… Wha- Hey!" she screamed. "What’s going- Oof!"
She tried to stand up from her chair in a panic, but K grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her back into her seat.
"Let me go!" she demanded while struggling against his vice-like grasp. "Take your filthy hands off me! Don’t touch me!"
"Settle down, kid," Reginald reassured her. "Please understand you are here for your own protection."
"Yeah, right! And the sun likes to turn blue during the winter! Do I look like that big of an idiot to you?!"
"Hmm, well, you don’t look like one, but you most certainly act like one."
"Why, you! I said get your fucking hands off me!"
*CHOMP*
The catgirl bit at the wrist of the man restraining her. Her pointed canines dug deep into his skin, enough to draw blood, yet he didn’t even flinch. Come to think of it, his reaction to having his fingers nearly cut off back at the park was rather… subdued. Boxxy definitely felt the undeniable sensation of bone grinding against claws back there, yet this guy reacted as if it was merely a nasty paper cut. It was almost as if the surprise hurt him more than the actual wound.
"Okay, let’s say we let you go," Reginald exclaimed, pacing in front of Keira. "What happens then? You’ll turn us in, let the authorities lock us up?"
The catgirl’s cold, silent glare made it clear those were her exact intentions.
"First of all – good luck with that. It’ll be your word against mine. A brat who showed up a few months ago out of nowhere, or one of the city’s benefactors who has supported this fragile Republic for decades. Who do you think the people will believe?"
He made some good points, but he clearly hadn’t heard of Keira’s achievements at Fort Yimin. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have been so cocky. Still, Boxxy made sure not to slacken its resentful glare in the slightest.
"So, what happens after that? Will you go back to pretending you’re an adventurer? Or will you return to that pointless relationship with your supposed girlfriend? Perhaps you’d much rather dress up in a heavy cloak and exact revenge upon us in the name of ‘Justice?’ Maybe even sick some demons on us, hmm?"
This old guy was right on the money. He was unquestionably aware of Keira’s true identity, making him extremely dangerous to Boxxy’s agenda. The shapeshifter instantly decided to dispose of Reginald permanently, most likely down the monster’s gullet. However, it didn’t need to do so immediately. Boxxy wanted to know what had given it away so that it could take steps to alleviate the problem. The best way to do that was to keep Reginald flapping his gums, which was why the shapeshifter decided to play dumb for as long as possible.
"Are you sure your head’s screwed on straight, gramps?" Keira looked at him with confusion.
"Oh, yes, I am most definitely of sound mind," he said confidently. "You, however, are way too reckless. Infiltrating one of the Central Consortium’s guilds – now that’s insane. I’m not completely sure how you managed to avoid being found out, but believe me when I say this – it will not last. Honestly, it’s a miracle we managed to find you before you screwed it up for the rest of us."
Reginald leaned menacingly towards the increasingly confused catgirl.
"But don’t you worry. I know exactly how to handle snot-nosed upstarts who start making waves because they don’t know any better. After all-"
His voice trailed off as his head transformed into a shape that looked like an upside-down pear. A pair of perfectly round yellow eyes accentuated a canvas of wrinkled, pitch-black skin. A mouth ran vertically across his non-existent face.
"-you’re hardly the first doppelganger to stir up trouble around here."
Part Two
Reginald’s gangly face distorted back into his previous visage, which was plastered with a smug smirk. Normally, this was when fresh-faced doppelgangers threw themselves at his feet. They’d lavish him with praise, swear loyalty, and do whatever they could to get on his side. Of course, being a doppelganger himself, Reginald knew full well their goals were entirely self-serving, though he didn’t blame them. It was a natural reaction when faced with someone who held their salvation in one hand their destruction in the other. From his species’ point of view, Reginald was the ideal. He was powerful, influential, wealthy, respected, and had an entire clandestine organization at his beck and call. It was only natural his less fortunate kin would seek the protection of such a successful individual. And he would gladly take them in, provided they did their part in furthering his secret society’s agenda.
This ‘girl’ in front of him was surely no different. Keira Morgana had slipped into the same self-destructive pitfalls that all newbie ‘gangers fell into. Once they realized personal trust and public approval increased their Doppelganger Levels, they all created outlandish characters that demanded attention. What they failed to consider was the attention would inevitably and rapidly lead to their discovery. The ‘pup’ in front of Reginald was a stereotypical example of this flawed mindset. Keira’s attention-whoring was precisely what allowed the senior shapeshifter’s network to deduce her true nature. Thus, it stood to reason that the newbie would fall in line like usual.
However, contrary to the banker’s expectations, Keira was neither impressed nor relieved. Instead, she kept shaking in her boots and turned paler by the second.
“Th-th-that,” she stammered, “What is that?! What the fuck are you?!”
“You can drop the act now, kid,” Reginald insisted. “We’ve been investigating you for quite a while, so there’s no question-”
“You’re wrong!”
*SLAP*
He hit Keira with the back of his hand in a motion strong enough to be considered a punch.
“Do not interrupt me, whelp!”
The catgirl whimpered and winced while blood dribbled from her nose and mouth.
“Yes, yes, I get it, you’re good at acting,” he rolled his eyes.
“I’m not acting!” she growled through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what kind of crap you have for a brain, but don’t lump me in with you monsters!”
The old doppelganger gave a long sigh as he realized this youngling was one of those so-called method actors. They committed fully to their role even in situations where it made no sense. It wasn’t a bad habit to have, but he didn’t want to deal with it. The only way to get through their self-imposed delusions was to forcefully tear down their Facade. If they still refused to cooperate afterwards, he’d have them eliminated and be done with it.
“Fine. I guess we’ll do this the hard way.”
Reginald nodded at K, prompting the man to sprout an extra arm from his right side. If it wasn’t clear from the context, this confirmed he too was a shapeshifter. K unsheathed the dagger on his thigh and pressed it against his captive’s cheek.
“Aaaaah! Noooo! Let me goooo!”
Keira started thrashing around and screaming again, but couldn’t break from his hold on her shoulders and neck.
“No, you idiot!” Reginald growled. “Not that hard way! You’ll get blood all over the carpet again!”
“... Sorry, boss.”
A visibly disappointed K sheathed his weapon and used the extra arm to pull out some rope
from his underneath coat. He wrapped it tightly around the still-yelling catgirl’s torso and arms, then tied her to her seat before finally taking his hands off her. Boxxy semi-seriously struggled against the rope and realized it was much tougher than it initially thought. The binding was of little use against a shapeshifter in the first place, but it wanted to see just how far it could take this as Keira as a sort of experiment.
Either way, the monster already decided it wasn’t going to submit to this stuck-up prick. Boxxy T. Morningwood hated being under someone else’s thumb more than anything. Its deal with the Goddess of Incomprehensibility was the lone exception – something it agreed to in a moment of weakness when it didn’t have much choice. Plus, it had already come to terms with that arrangement since it was getting some tasty benefits out of it. On the whole, Boxxy had very few complaints as to how the whole Hero of Chaos thing had turned out thus far.
But Reginald wasn’t as easygoing as Charlie. This guy seemed like a total control freak, and Boxxy would rather eat its entire hoard before it submitted to his self-appointed authority. That said, someone in the banker’s position could be especially useful to it, hence why the monster waited to see how things played out. It considered how to take advantage of the situation while the two-faced banker walked around to his massive desk and opened up one of the drawers. From it he pulled a thick metal baton with a handle covered in rubber made from Bouncewood bark. The tip of the iron rod was adorned by a steel sphere the size of a small apple.
“See this?” Reginald wiggled the device for emphasis. “A little marvel that I got my hands on a long time ago. It’s called a Stun Stick, you see.”
He pushed a little button at the base of the handle, causing the item in question to emit a low hum.
“It was created with the intention of incapacitating people, but its output is far too low to take down anyone above Level 30 or so. The worst it would do to an adventurer is to give them a nasty jolt, maybe make them pee their pants a little. But to us doppelgangers – well, I’m sure I don’t need to explain.”
