The Conciege
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(TPOR) Chapter 152: Run It Again
🕑 Added 2023-12-27 03:37:50 +0000 UTCFive years ago...
California R and D Institute
“Run it again.”
Tilda held back a frustrated sigh. This was what she’d been hoping against. She was always happy to show off her state of augmented reality generator but the problem with it in this instance was that it worked too well. She’d been hoping something would get past the man. But that wasn’t even the real problem here. What really peeved her every single time was when she’d been recruited for the job here at the institute she’d been informed that she wouldn’t be working for the military, that her job was strictly research based. But here she was, listening to commands and taking orders from a man in uniform.
So much for that, she thought, adjusting square spectacles over her eyes. She didn’t need the visual aid anymore, not since her awakening. But before she’d awakened as a mage her eyesight had needed the help of glasses, and while they were near perfect now, she wore them simply because she liked the comfort they gave her, the simple sense of normalcy.
She took a calming breath before she answered the man seated on the other side of the massive glass desk. “Yes, General.”
She tapped a button on her tab and played back the scene. It was one of the students that served as their research base. He was a boy admitted from a small town somewhere so insignificant she couldn’t remember the name without looking at his file. He was also the only subject displaying side effects from the program.
In the scene they watched his most recent dream dive shown on a holographic display. In it a dark African man from Nigeria called The Berserker stood with his team around a table drawing plans for an assault. On the table was a map spread out so his team could see it.
“So we’re taking the east wing,” one of them said, his skin was on the fairer side and they called him Spork. Why? No one cares, because he wasn’t real. “It looks unguarded and will give us quick access to the weapons cache here,” he tapped a random spot on the map. “From there it’ll be smooth sailing.”
The Berserker shook his head. “I don’t like it. Looks too good to be true.”
Spork snapped a finger at him dramatically. “I knew you’d say that, so,” he drew a line across the map with his finger and stopped at another random spot, “I found us an entry spot at a more guarded spot, here. It’s guarded by three men with—”
“Skip forward,” the General interrupted with a raised hand. “I’ve seen all this and don’t care much for it.”
Tilda pressed her lips in a thin line and obeyed. She had really hoped the anomaly would’ve gone over his head. She touched the screen of her tab and the video hurried forward.
“There.” The General pointed at the screen and she paused the video. “Play that for me.”
When she played it, The Berserker had a frown on his face as his team geared up for their mission. He stared at nothing but his frown continued to deepen until it was an ugly scowl. He raised his left arm and a simple rune lit up on it in a soft blue. When it died down his scowl deepened all the more.
“Is anyone else seeing this?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“Seeing what, Boss?” another team member asked, her features were mundane, easily forgettable, and they called her Hera.
The Berserker pointed at the empty space in front of him. “That!”
Hera stepped in front of him, facing him, and peered into the empty air as if she could see something.
“Nope,” she answered. “Got nothing there, Boss.”
The Berserker shook his head. “Scrooge!”
“Yes, Boss,” another mundane, male character rushed up.
“You see nothing, too?”
“Nothing at all, sir.”
Hera looked at him with a touch of worry. “What do you think, Boss? Mental inconsistency? Combat illusion?”
He shook his head. “No. The rune didn’t detect anything.”
His answer drew on more worry where they should’ve been none. Whenever his mind rune detected something, it was scary. His mind was already an impenetrable fortress so if any mage or magi-tech was capable of piercing it, then it was a safe bet they were all already under the illusion. The last time someone had successfully placed him under an illusion spell they came to discover he was a powerful mage, and he hadn’t just placed The Berserker under the illusion, he’d placed the entire town under it. Even then, his mind rune had detected it. But an illusion or mental attack his mind rune couldn’t detect was terrifying.
Just thinking about it made Hera shudder.
“What are you seeing, Boss?” Spork asked, coming up so that they all stood around him now.
“Words,” he said. “It says they’ve,” he froze, fear replacing his scowl. “Where’s Evelyn?”
“She said she’d be coming in late, something about a busted tire.”
“Find her n—”
The General raised a hand and Tilda paused the video. She was already feeling a migraine from what was about to happen as the man got up from his chair and walked around the table. The questions would be unnecessary, yet the stuck up arsehole was going to ask them, regardless.
General Truman was a greying haired man with a square face and heavy set brows. From the little she’d been able to get from his heavily redacted file, he was around fifty and had a lot of combat experience under his belt. He was six feet tall but his steel soled boots made him taller as he walked up to the projection. He was big but not massive, and while his green military uniform did well to conceal his shape, there was no doubt he had been huge in his prime.
“What is the subject looking at?” he asked, standing nose to nose with the projection.
Tilda stayed silent, unsure of how to say she didn’t know without sounding like a complete fool. She was the most powerful mage the institute had, and the dreamscape was her own design, from the world building to the character design. While The Berserker was based off a real person as were all the personas each subject had been slipped into, he had still been modified by her to have magic. So she had a touch of customization on the man. As for everything else, the situation, the personalities of the people, they were blueprints by which she worked with, sent to the institute from the head office in D.C.
Yet, like all of the subjects she’d slipped Zed into, he displayed characteristics she couldn’t understand and saw things even she couldn’t see. It was meant to be impossible but the boy’s personas continued to do it time and time again.
Truman turned from the projection to look at her. “Mage Tilda.”
“Yes, General.” She really hoped her fears and concerns didn’t spill into her voice.
“What is subject Twenty-seven looking at?”
She bit her lower lip, messing up her lipstick before catching herself and releasing it.
“Subject Twenty-seven has been known to show symptoms of low level aggression, apathy and hallucinatory behavior with claims of words in the air.”
It was Doctor Shequifa that had answered and Tilda was once more glad for her friendship with the woman. Truth be told some of the things she said were likely embellished. For one, Subject Twenty-seven had never shown any signs of apathy in the real world. His personas often displayed it within the dreamscapes even when she was sure to ensure they were emotional, but it wasn’t to everyone. For instance, those who were supposed to be close to the personas remained close to them and they kept their apathy for the unimportant.
Subject Twenty-seven was nothing like that in real life. At least her son didn’t think so.
General Truman shot the doctor a quiet look where she was seated with her white lab coat and stiletto heels on a one-seater. She held her brown hair up in a small bun and met the man’s gaze behind glasses she actually needed since she wasn’t a mage. Beside her a man with a pinched face and a place in the engineering department sat with a barely concealed smirk.
“Doctor Shaquifa,” Truman said without inflection. “I know what schizophrenia looks like. I also know people who suffer from it. That,” he pointed at the hologram, “might be signs of hallucination. But there are no signs of apathy, and there was none through the entire video. His signs of aggression, while high, are not unnatural for a man of his design. I would know, considering I once had the displeasure of working alongside the operative he was designed after. So don’t try to feed me insinuations of schizophrenia. It can very easily be misconstrued as an insult to my person.”
Shequifa’s confidence withered under the weight of his words and she bowed her head. “My apologies, General.”
Standing beside the hologram with her tab in hand, Tilda almost felt sorry for the woman. Unfortunately, the doctor had only taken a glancing blow from a bullet intended for her.
The General nodded once then walked up to her. He stood before her, staring down at her like a bare hunting a trout. His heavy set face displayed no emotion. Not even annoyance.
“Mage Tilda.”
Tilda swallowed. “Yes, General.”
“You are the pioneer of this augmented reality generator, am I right?”
“Yes you are, General.”
“And forgive my lack of education in the department of science and magic, but if I’m not mistaking, your device is designed to allow us view the entire scenes of a dream scape any and all Mind Mages build through some wires connected to their heads during the process of a dream dive, correct?”
“Neuro links, Gene—” Truman’s face tightened and she cut herself off and tried again. “Yes, General.”
“Good, good,” Truman nodded sagely. “And said wires—neuro links are connected to the dreamer’s head to ensure we are capable of getting the subject’s point of view during said dreamscape, correct?”
“Correct, General.”
General Truman took a step back, and she caught herself releasing a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Now tell me,” he continued, now looking at the projection. “If I ask you to switch over to the point of view of Subject Twenty-seven. To,” he twirled his hand in a vague gesture, “show me what his neuro links are interpreting. Will I be able to see what Subject Twenty-seven is seeing at this moment?”
And there in lay the preamble to the dreaded question. Her answer would dig her grave another foot deeper, whether that would make it deep enough to bury her was anyone’s guess. And yet, she could not refuse; she could not withhold an answer.
“No, General,” she replied with a barely concealed grimace. “You will not.”
One hand behind his back and the other stroking his jaw like a sage elder, he turned to his table and stared at the stack of documents in front of him. “I see.”
He turned around and faced her, folded his arms, and leaned back against the table. If the idea of it breaking under his weight crossed his mind, it did not echo on his face. He stared at her for seconds that seemed to go on forever. With a rigid face, the only thing that proved he was still alive was the fact that he still blinked.
He sighed, as if dreading what he was going to do next yet doing it because he had to, then asked. “Is this the fault of the tech or the fault of the mage, Instructor Tilda?”
There it was. An attack on her person. Whatever answer she gave would stand in her opposition. If she claimed it was the tech, then that was eight years of accolades down the drain. In fact, it would send all advances made in mind magic through the aid of the technology back by eight years. Worse, it would ensure the technology becomes questionable. Every result provided from it would be called into question. If she managed to spear head another project in magical technology, her results would be viewed with skepticism. It would be the end of her inventive career as she knew it. But if she said it was the fault of the mage, it would call her skill into question. It would…
No. That was the right answer. If she took the blame it would reduce some of her credibility but not all of it. There was a reason she was head of the mind magic department of the institute in California. A reason she was here standing in front of the General not some half-baked mind mage who’d awakened to some level of mediocrity in mind magic. It was because she was one of the best the government had. It was because she had proved her self-worth.
“My deepest apologies, General,” she said with a growing air of confidence and feigned remorse. ‘In this case I have proven not as skilled as I would’ve liked to believe.”
A smile spread across the man’s rigid face, lighting it up. If he wasn’t the devil come to take her job away from her, she would’ve said it made him look handsome.
He unfolded his arms and clapped slowly. His smile grew to a soft chuckle, a deep sound that reverberated in her chest as it morphed into laughter. It was nice to hear yet a sufficient touch of menace that left her terrified and confused.
“Well played, Mage Tilda,” he laughed. “Well played.” He moved from the table and approached her again. “You are telling me that this is the fault of the mage. Thus, every other mind mage that has been involved in the recreation of a dreamscape within which Subject Twenty-seven was a subject of have proven subpar. The government has wasted money and resources on an entire department suffering from a singular disease of incompetence. In order to save your tech, you’ve convicted a team of eight mages who depend on this job for their livelihood. To save your tech you’ve sent eight mages to the gallows; annihilated your entire team.”
His words weighed down on her and she felt the little confidence she’d regained trickle from her and into her underwear. Or maybe it was pee; maybe she’d just peed herself a little from the fear of having such an intimidating man laugh in her face while holding her job in his hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” the General said, his laugh ending abruptly. “Whether it’s your fault or the tech’s fault or even pretty Doctor Shequifa over there’s fault. I don’t care. The Pentagon doesn’t care. And you can rest assured that neither does the White House.”
That eased her a bit. Then she stiffened again, dried up by a new worry. If they didn’t care about any of that, then why was the man here? Why did they send him?
The man was sending her down a roller coaster of emotions here.
“Tell me, Instructor Tilda Bowen,” he continued. “What Mage are you?”
“A Mind Mage.”
“No,” he shook his head. He was standing directly in front of her again. “Not that. I mean the entire thing. You know, the full accompaniment and everything.”
“I’m a Category Two Mind Mage with—”
“I said the whole thing, Tilda. Every. Single. Bit.”
She took a calming breath and started afresh. “I’m a Category Two, Rukh Rank Mage with advanced specialization and command in Mental Magic. I hold a Level Seven Mental Magic clearance and stand as Director of Mental Magic in the Institute.”
She felt like a soldier rattling off her position. Somehow she felt debased to reduce herself to such a thorough categorization even when she knew there were many who would die to be in her place.
“Category Two, Rukh Rank Mage,” Truman said slowly. “A Mind Mage at that. And with Level Seven Mental Magic clearance. Wow.” He didn’t sound impressed. “Doesn’t that mean every other Mind Mage in this facility, all eight of them, must receive a documented permission from you to indulge in any magical activity of mental inclination on another person, and report back the outcome of said activity?”
He was mocking her now. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. “Yes, General.”
“While you, however, need no approval from anyone here. You only have to ensure the Pentagon and White House receive a weekly report of all mental magical activities carried out.”
“Yes, General.”
“I see.” He smiled but it did not touch his eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree that that makes you a very dangerous person, Mage Tilda? Some might even say the most dangerous person in this building. Only second—maybe—to Combat Mage Ivanovic.”
She stood to her full height and met his blue eyes, though she still had to tilt her head to do so. “I would disagree, General. I would say it makes me no more than a powerful representative of the government in this building.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, General.”
“What of you, Doctor Shequifa?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Tilda. “Would you say Mind Mage Tilda here is practically the most dangerous person in this building?”
From the corner of her eyes Tilda watched the doctor cross her legs confidently.
“I would disagree with that evaluation, General,” Shequifa answered.
If her response caught the man by surprise, he did not show it. Instead, he continued to address her while staring down at Tilda.
“And why is that, Doctor?”
“Because she is a loyal woman with a strong inclination towards maternity instincts, and a protective instinct towards whatever she considers one of her own. She has an intrinsic love for her country which makes her consider it her own, thus, expanding her protective instincts towards it. She is also, and I’m quoting Doctor Nigel here, ‘An individual who leans towards goodness on the morality scale as her default setting.’”
Wow, Tilda thought. Way to go to bat for me, Shequifa.
She hadn’t even known the woman had her file. And an intrinsic love for her country? She wouldn’t be inclined to say she’d go that far. But that was very good. She stared at the General and suppressed her growing smile. In your face asshole.
“Well said, Doctor Shequifa.” Truman’s expression did not change. “Now tell me this. What would you say, in your professional opinion, would happen if for some reason,” he turned his eyes to her, “and I assure you this is nothing more than a hypothetical.” He turned his eyes back to Tilda. “What would you say would happen if, for some reason, something was to happen to her one and only son. If—and I cannot stress how hypothetical this is—she was to feel her son’s life was threatened in some way by the simple existence of the people in this very building. Would she be dangerous then?”
Tilda bit down on her rising anger. You fucking prick. If anything happens to my boy I’ll flay you and hang you out to dry.
On her seat, Doctor Shequifa had grown ashen and the head of the Magical Engineering Department looked like he’d wet himself. General Truman spared her another momentary glance, and her silence said it all.
Tilda agreed. Dangerous won’t come close to what I’ll do to you.
