#plot advancement

A sigh, heavy and weighted, escaped Shaska. She had been so busy as of late. Working on coding, robotics, antivirus lines, arguing with robot masters, and then so many panics going on in the world. Returns of old foes and problems, mysterious happening in the surrounding regions. Old friends slowly coming back, only for something else to spiral. Everything piling up, one thing after another. She felt it all settling in her bones.

And now here, at X’s large home, she took a chance to let it truly sink in. It was a long while after his sudden memory recovery by now, that message from Doctor Light. Blues had been livid... He was now however, keeping Robot Masters on heavy alert. Regular sweeps through Abel City, and the surrounding regions. Shaska was on duty keeping an eye here for now, some time out of her lab. Forced out of her lab, more like.

But she couldn’t make the mind stop spiraling. Always running, always thinking. It just didn’t stop. Emotions fluctuating and trying to be controlled, the need for her hands to be working constantly... Instead, there she now stood in the quiet night of the house, in the music room. One hand running over the top of the piano.

X was sleeping at the other side of the house, right? Still cursed and all that...

Fuck it.

Another breath and she moved around it, gently taking a seat on the bench. Lid of the piano keys lifted to reveal the ivories. And without hesitation, she let her fingers get put to work, something to try and ease her mind... A song from when she was younger came too mind, bringing her back into older days, better ones, even if it was all bitter sweet.

Music carried through the room as she danced over the monochrome keys, memories coming back of how to play, one of many instruments she still could remember. It sounded somewhat upbeat, but the lyrics were questionable, as Shaska began to softly sing.

“If only I could be wherever you are, If only I could know what's on your mind, If only I could tell you what's on mine, If only I could show you how I feel...

...That’s right.

He had a job to do.

♦️ “...I-“.

♦️ “Yeah”.

He did have a job to do and he was far behind, he needed to catch up soon or else...

Blues had gotten up and prepared himself.

He was going on a mission.

He had to make things normal again. For himself.

As if nothing had happened he puts on his mask and communicates through fully to everyone,

♦️ “This is Blues”.

♦️ “I’m heading out for patrol”.

“Wren,” she said, rubbing her arms. “‘Asset Wren,’ I guess.”

Wren looked more uncomfortable than Kestrel had ever seen her. Swan was not far behind.

“Asset Petrel,” replied the commander. She removed her blue beret and stuck it beneath her starched, khaki epaulette. Auburn curls billowed to her shoulders. Petrel handed Osprey a file folder before she offered Wren and Swan a crisp salute.

Wren and Swan half-heartedly returned the gesture. “You don’t have a name, ‘Asset’?” Swan asked.

Petrel dropped her hand from her thin brow; it came to rest on her sidearm’s white holster. “It’s better that you don’t know. Commander is fine.”

“Right,” mumbled Swan.

Petrel nodded. She gestured about the Portrait Gallery. Expensive oil paintings hung from alabaster walls – a primitivist Well of Eternity; an abstract vision of Anduin mentored by Jaina; a superb Neoclassical rendering of The Council of Six. Where paintings were absent, walnut bookshelves reached toward the ceiling.

“Do you know the reason for this war?” Petrel asked.

“To keep from dying,” snickered Swan. Wren crossed her arms.

Petrel glanced toward Kestrel and Osprey, both of whom remained quiet. Osprey shrugged. Kestrel walked toward one of the distant bookshelves; he whispered with a gnomish librarian.

“In part,” said Petrel. She shifted her gaze toward a grand painting, ten feet up: knights on their knees before a priest – The Formation of The Silver Hand. “Alonsus Faol asked those who would become paladins this same question, you know.”

Swan sighed, annoyed.

Petrel shook her head. Her face – sharp, angular with a strong jawline and a straight nose – remained neutral. “Faol sought the Light’s furtherance, and the continuation of culture.”

Wren and Swan exchanged skeptical glances. Osprey looked on; she’d heard this speech before. Kestrel joined them, a slender book of pebbled black leather in his hand. He handed it to Petrel.

Wren chuckled. “Why the history lesson?”

Once the commander had taken the book, Osprey passed Kestrel the file folder. Petrel flipped through the handsome volume’s tan pages. Dalaran’s Library had kept its cotton rag pristine. When she reached the last page, Petrel shut the book. She offered it to Wren. Wren gasped – there, in gold leaf: Human and Other Circulatory Systems: Tips on Efficient Exsanguination. A tiny ‘Q.M.’ had been stamped into the cover’s lower right corner.

“I believe this is yours,” said Petrel.

Wren’s smirk vanished. “…how…?”

Petrel cleared her throat. “The Offensive knows their Assets…” – she eyed Swan – “…all of them.”

Wren turned the pages in the book lovingly; she ran her fingers across pressed letters and hand-drawn black and red figures. Her face flushed. She handed the book to Swan.

“Ok, so know my…” Wren stammered. “…so what?”

Petrel nodded. Kestrel handed her the file folder, and stepped back. “Leftenant,” acknowledged Petrel before she began to read: 

“Quai Mason. Personal familial annihilator pressured by prolonged abuse. Monette Mason. Probable accomplice to at least one of Quai Mason’s familial homicides…” – Commander Petrel skimmed her finger down the page – “…the deceased were suspected of child abuse and attempted forceful extrication of magical abilities from a minor.”

Wren’s mouth dropped open. She was speechless. Swan shut Wren’s book.

“Furthermore, sisters Mason have been implicated in the attempted assassination of Kirin Tor Senator Proventus…” – Petrel paused, eyes flickering between the two sisters – “…his fate remains unknown.” She shut the folder.

Swan glanced around the Portrait Gallery. Several portals shimmered below, yet were too far away to access. – “Shackle us already,” she said.

Petrel pulled a handwritten letter from within her dress blouse. She unfolded the paper and held it out before her; the watermark, the Eye of the Kirin Tor, stared at them as she read:

“‘It has been decreed that all present and future members of the organization known as ‘Blackbay’ are hereby immune from all prosecution by the City-State of Dalaran. Past members are not included in this decree, nor does this decree extend to realms not controlled by the Kirin Tor. The protection of Blackbay begins upon this letter’s proclamation’…” – Petrel read several names  – “…‘and those who die in the line of duty shall have all criminal and civil records expunged.’” She skipped ahead: “‘Decreed this date, the 27th of June, 32 ADP; proclaimed this date, the 14th of August, 32 ADP. Signed’…”

Petrel handed the letter to Wren. Several signatures had been scrawled across the bottom in different inks. Wren could not discern individual names, but ‘Archmage’ preceded all of them. She gave Swan the letter, and plucked her book from her sister’s hands.

Swan skimmed through the letter. She handed the letter to Kestrel; he slipped it into his flatpack. “Why?”

Petrel resumed her formal demeanor. “This limited immunity… is a show of good faith. You shall remain under our protection for as long as your service continues. While in Dalaran, you’ll have access to your safe house. You’ll have access to our armory, your accounts, and the Library. In short, the Kirin Tor is giving you every tool available with the carte blanch directive to help us end this war. But,” she emphasized, “all protection evaporates if you violate any international treaty. Understood?”

Wren and Swan exchanged a flurry of subtle hand gestures.

“What happens after the war?” Swan asked.

Commander Petrel stood at attention. “That’s up to you,” she said. “Are we in accord?”

Wren handed Petrel her book. She inhaled sharply:

“We are.”

The first leg of their journey went precisely as planned. Departing west from the vault and descending into the Valley of Lost Hope under Aldur’thar’s shadow, Ceruszael and his companions hugged the eastern ridgeline to steer clear of both the living Argents to the north and the feral dead in the west. Only a handful of skirmishes slowed them down during the southern ride before they ascended and made their way through the Argent Vanguard camp. No one hassled them here, as many had worked with the Ashen Verdict and had if not respect, a mutual understanding with Ebon Knights.

From here they entered Crystalsong Forest, riding directly south along shattered road remnants from a dead civilization. This portion of Northrend was little more than a crossroads since Dalaran’s departure, with most population centers congregating in Borean Tundra, Dragonblight, or the Howling Fjord. As such, the Knights’ passing came and went in silence shared only by remnant elven spirits whom the Acherans steered well clear of.

It was only once they arrived in Dragonblight that trouble began. Ceruszael led them eastward through the Crystal Vice, risking feral jormungar and attention fro native Ice Giants over attractive attention so early from Winterscar forces. Though he had been told that factions yet searched for and fought for Tiberiaus, there was far too much to risk in revealing themselves. Thankfully the giants appeared to have driven the worms below the ice for the time being and seemed uninterested in a small party of Ebon Knights, leaving the trio unmolested in passing. They rode the Vice until it rose back to ground level and merged into the eastern road leading to Grizzly Hills. Here, at last, Ceruszael’s luck ran out. The muffled din of hooves on packed snow and ice sounded from the east as a contingent of Winterscar Knights intercepted the Acherans, holding them at the road yet at least electing for words over immediate conflict.

It was a terse exchange, Ser Travosa speaking for the Winterscar men and declaring themselves lieged to the Wardeness who taken Tiberiaus’ place. They asked after the Acheran’s business in Northrend, barely masking contempt for the undead and expressing desire for them to depart the conflicts raging in the Hills and Fjord against the Vrykul. Discipline and cool temperament had to prevail. During the discourse Ceruszael felt more than once his companions’ instincts to simply paint the snow red with these living knights and proceed on task. Yet he could not allow it. To kill these men would see the northern house seek their end actively, and draw suspicion as to their true intentions. Later, no doubt, they would have to shed mortal blood. But not before the need arose would Ceruszael endanger his task.

Instead the Blood Dragon lied. He spoke of Acherus sending them to scout the Vrykul conflict and report back to Ebon Watch in Zul’drak, potentially inciting a mobilized response from the Shadow Vault to aid the living in their battles. He played to Winterscar animosity agaist the undead, suggesting they allow the risen knights to die in place of living soldiers where fighting was thickest. It was difficult to gauge how much impact his words held, as Ser Travosa and his men hid reactions behind helms and discipline equally. Eventually their lances raised to the sky rather than remain levelled at Ceruszael and his companions, and bid them depart and stay well clear of the warzones to the east and south. Though he claimed to carry this request north to Ebon Watch and let further involvement be dictated by higher ranks of Acherus, Ceruszael had no intention of being dissuaded.

They rode north at the road’s fork, clear of prying eyes from Travosa and his men, before pulling hard east to reach to the river separating Dragonblight from the Grizzly Hills. After ensuring no patrol was imminent, the Ebon Knights rode south along the river’s western bank, keeping well clear of Wintergarde Keep and, further south, Venomspite. The shadow of dormant Naxxramas did well to mask their passing for a time, and once they had ridden the river near to its end and ocean’s birth, Ceruszael would turn them eastward again to the Hills. There, he hoped, they would be able to evade the clashing battlelines of Vrykul, northern lords, and Horde soldiery alike. If not, one more field of dead men would raise little alarm amidst the butchery of a warzone.

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I.

The kal’dorei had come in by her own volition. She was dressed as a Sentinel, and her purple hair was rather disheveled – more likely than not a consequence of her long voyage from Tanaris. She had told Ramirez that she had just arrived that morning, one of a few passengers who had decided to front the cash for a trip over the holiday. No name given. The Sentinel had asked for Glenice by codename – “…is Shadowgrove here…?” – before she was stripped of her weapons, and ushered into the interrogation room.

Glenice and Alanna watched her from behind the two-way mirror. Beneath the harsh white lights of the box, the Sentinel certainly looked tired, under-fed. Her hands were coarse, and her skin darkened by the sun of Southern Kalimdor. She sat up straight, unwavering. Her armor was pitted by sand and time, though it still shone dully. The woman had obviously cared for her armor. Glenice ran her hands over the woman’s knives and crossbow; all were very old, but in pristine working condition. Whoever the Sentinel was, she was well disciplined.

“She’s been in there more than an hour – what should we do with her?” Glenice asked Alanna. She picked up one of the Sentinel’s knives and turned it over in her bare hands.

“She looks like a half-elf… Do we even know why she’s here?” replied Alanna. She sounded well-rested following her trip to Eastvale – a bit of vacation time she had spent to visit the shrine at Stone Cairn Lake.

Glenice set the woman’s blade down and turned about. She sat on the mahogany veneered table. Her light blue trousers rustled quietly as she settled. Her face was drawn, tired. A year had passed since the shooting, and the SIU did not have much to show for their investigation. The doctor, the exile… that whole group had gone dark. Ballistics and blood spatter, operation execution, a string of dead bodies, one composite sketch, a vague paper trail, the anonymous tip Glenice had received… There were two people who were known associates with the lord doctor – but one was a diplomat, and the other was just part of the of minor nobility. The red tape was thick. Every bit of evidence the SIU had amassed pointed to something larger, though they had no concrete idea as to what that thing could have actually been.

Glenice shrugged a shoulder. “Ramirez said she had information about the op in Silithus,” she said.

“The one you think started all of this?” Alanna replied. She clicked her tongue; the sharp sound died in the observation room’s thick, acoustic foam.

“Mmhmm,” said Glenice. She wrung her hands. Her dark brown eyebrow were knit with concern. She clenched her jaw tight.

“Makes sense,” said Alanna. She placed her hand on Glenice’s shoulder, and pressed down. Glenice forced herself to relax. “I mean it falls in line with the report were received through the FoIA.”

“Why now…?”

Alanna took a deep breath. She scooted Glenice toward the door leading to the hallway. “Get in there and find out, Shadowgrove,” she said.

II.

Glenice sat directly across from the Sentinel. She held the half-kal’dorei’s platinum gaze for a long while. Neither of them spoke. The Sentinel did not move, she just sat there, resolute and stoic. A frown flashed across Glenice’s face; she took a deep breath.

“Who are you?” She asked the Sentinel.

“Huntress Selene Duskwind. Nightblade. Cenarion Circle detachment, Silithus,” the Sentinel replied. Her speech was precise, her voice carried weight. “…Major Shadowgrove,” she said.

Glenice glanced toward the two-way mirror. She looked tired – her face was drawn, and bags pulled at her eyes. At least she had gotten her makeup right that morning.

“Thank you for your service, Huntress… What brings you here?” asked Glenice.

The Sentinel placed her hands on the plain, wooden table, one atop the other. She blinked. The tattoos which streaked down her face also darkened her eye lids.

“Injustices have occurred in Silithus. By your race, by the humans…” Her voice trailed off. “…first by your cults, then by your military, and last by your auxiliary forces.”

“Was there a recent incident we haven’t heard about?” asked Glenice. She watched the Sentinel’s eyes; the Sentinel stared straight ahead.

“No,” she said. Her tone of voice did not waver. “This is about something that happened a year and a half ago.”

Glenice sucked in her breath. She studied the kal’dorei for another minute or so. The half-elf looked young, but had the discipline of a Warden. She remained speechless unless spoken to. After a moment, Glenice drummed her fingers atop the table – pinky, ring, middle, index – just once. Selene’s eyes flickered toward Glenice’s fingers before staring forward once more.

“Why are you here now?” Glenice asked.

“It has been a year since your shooting, hasn’t it?” Selene replied.

“The assassination? Of the –”

The Sentinel cut her off. “The assassinations. First target: Brian Wellson. Formerly of the Conclave. Operative for the Kirin Tor Offensive…” – she said, pausing a moment before – “…and the Cenarion Circle. Second target: Marquis Byron White. Formerly of Alterac. Accepted protected status in Stormwind.”

Glenice nodded slowly. Her gaze never left her guest’s face. Someone tapped on the two-way glass. She ignored it.

“Why now?” she asked. Again, a tap on the mirror.  The Sentinel’s expression did not change, like she did not hear the tap of knuckles to glass. Glenice kept her gaze leveled at the Huntress.

“Out of respect, we thought to give him a year,” replied the Sentinel. “I left from Tanaris on the anniversary.”

A rap twice more at the window. Glenice’s commstone crackled; her lip twitched. She took it from her ear and placed it on the table. The Sentinel remained unperturbed.

“What military group? Why were they there?”

A hard slap against the glass. Neither woman moved.

“You called them ‘Scorpids’,” said Selene. Her face was blank, a dark purple slate marred only by her tattoos. “Your man –”

The door to the box burst open. Glenice glanced over her shoulder. A man in a tan uniform stood in front Alanna. Alanna’s head was buried in her palm.

“Interview’s over,” said the man.

“– your man was not –” continued the Sentinel.

“Interview is over,” repeated the man. He pushed through the door, and yanked the Sentinel out of her chair. Glenice stood and drew her sidearm. She stared the interloper down. The man drew his own sidearm with his left hand even as his right hand gripped the Sentinel’s collar.

“– your man was not part of –”

The man smacked Selene on the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The Sentinel crumpled in his grasp.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Glenice. She turned to look toward Alanna, who had since been flanked by two other men; they were wearing the same garb. She scanned the men’s chests, looking at their service medals – one of which was purple and had the white eye of the Kirin Tor in the middle. “What is this?”

“Lower your weapon, Major,” said Alanna. She sounded defeated.

The man holding the kal’dorei by her collar – older, blue beret, salt & pepper, well-groomed and understated mustache – echoed Alanna. “Lower your weapon, Major,” he said.

Glenice looked between her partner and the man in the blue beret. She held her hands out and set the gun on the table. The man sneered. One of Alanna’s guards shoved her toward Glenice.

“Selene Duskwind is – was – an enemy of the state. She went AWOL a week ago from her post in Silithus. My advice is to ignore what you’ve heard,” said the man. He started to drag the kal’dorei out of the room before he stopped and whispered in Glenice’s ear: “Let it go already.”

The man whistled. Glenice winced. His two subordinates grabbed Selene beneath her arms. He turned to face the two investigators. “I remember you – both of you,” he said. “Always being places you shouldn’t be. You’ve got enemies with long memories.”

The man slammed the door shut; it locked behind him. Glenice and Alanna could hear a portal being opened as they stared at one another. They had to get the kal’dorei back. There was no other option. They had to.

But the Robot Masters, their network was alight with sudden understanding. Many of them recalling something all too familiar. Communicating towards everyone and being on high alert, all of them going straight into prepared caution for the worst. Shadow Man perhaps the worst of all, the ninja bolting from shadow to shadow on patrols and observations. But he couldn’t pinpoint, couldn’t find, and he hated it... Shaska had felt nearly staggered as her Atlantis based technology reacted, bringing her a sudden feeling of frigid terror. Life support screaming through her helmet.

No one knew what happened exactly, but some suspected.

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Elsewhere, in a hidden lab far away, deep within a rocky mountain side, was Techno the Stardroid, gasping loudly as she felt every single familiar system click online. It took her control to shut down the neuro links and comms she had left on ever since the fall of the 20XX era. No, no, no, this wasn’t good. The defector had to scramble for her scanners to try and make sense of just how screwed they might be. Maybe she had to come out of hiding now, to try and give this new era a heads up.

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“ELEC MAN! Come back out here, we have no idea what might happen out there, or in there!”

“Like hell I am! Quick Man and I were already in the heart of it and who knows however many else.”

Several pings were sent out over the entirety of the network, sending returns of confirmation that went off in nanoseconds, verifying the claim. More than just those two had been there, even Centaur Man sending in a ‘Typical’.

“And what if something happens too you?! Or Quick?! We might be clean right now, but who knows about the future? And if others go down or worse, this is Maverick and all those Reploids become violent, you’re in a confined building surrounded!”

“If that even DOES happen, IF being the key word, who the hell is going to slow them down, Cut Man?! THEMSELVES?! Quick and I are ready for the worst case scenario. I’m sure others are too! If this happens, we’ll have no choice but to fight and keep damage too a minimum... I’m staying here.”