Chương 105: 7.07 No Return without Receipt or Label

2104: 04: 06: 21: 25: 06 While Aetherna's message had arrived on short notice and a tight deadline, Amber and I agreed to come nevertheless. We hurriedly put in our masks and ran out of our base, me shifting into a motorbike mid-sprint, Amber jumping on it with practiced ease. Within seconds, we were off to Greenside. Aetherna and Changelinger had managed to get in contact with the Principate – the rogue teen team somehow affiliated with Rajaparang – but to say they were eager to meet would be a lie.

They'd given us an ultimatum, a location on the other end of the bay, and a time limit of half an hour; we either got there, or it was a bust. A now-or-never type of deal. So we hurried, our route leading us through parts of the city we – or at least I – had never been in before.

From our base in The Hub we raced down the highway by the Portside docks, crossed the great four-and-a-half kilometer long Thirteen Peoples Bridge across the inlet between Grays Harbor and the Pacific, and hit the northwestern part of Greenside within six minutes – give or take seventeen and a half seconds – by driving as recklessly as safely possible.

Ten more minutes after that we arrived at a large, out-of-the-way public park that seemed closer to a forest-in-miniature than the sparsely-treed grassland parks I was used to. Shifting back to base and following Aetherna's directions, we came to a small clearing with a fountain surrounded by four benches, two on either side. On the left: Aetherna, Changelinger in his default elfin-fae-whatever form; and on the right: Prince Enmon, Antrustion, Armamentarium and their latest member, Mauvist.

March stood somewhere in-between them, acting the diplomat while looking too nervous to indicate great success at it. Prince Enmon was a tall, gangly boy in dress that seemed… culturally significant, let's say – although nothing I recognized. An all-black, round-collared shirt with thick golden, v-shaped decorative threading running down the middle, along the collar, his sides and his arms and shoulders. The red sash going from shoulder to waist had similarly thick golden thread on the edges.

A black-and-gold-patterned sarong-like cloth covered his black pants, and a silver mask in the shape of a stylized fox finished the look. As for his powers, little was known except that he was an augur or a master of some kind. What kind, no one knew exactly but it'd made his team strangely successful in whatever they did, so speculation generally pointed to teamwork, strategy, tactics or social focus. His knight Antrustion was likewise tall, except a lot bulkier than his friend.

Unlike Prince Enmon, the boy was dressed not nearly as specifically, preferring instead a somewhat generic medieval 'black knight' style of outfit for his costume – appropriate for a bodyguard, I supposed. If that was indeed his role. His powers were more well known: a somewhat generic lower-tier super with basic increases in strength, speed and reflexes, and a caster ability to project kinetic force with swings and thrusts of his longsword.

He was also a master swordfighter, but only in the mundane sense; he had great skill, but no superpowers for it. Or maybe he did have a master power as well, but it was nothing compared to, say, Amber's level of knifework. Armamentarium was the smallest and most underdressed of them all. A white shirt covered in a brown, leather-looking blacksmith's apron with a hammer the size of my lower arm hanging of it, and a basic domino mask to cover the face.

Not that he needed the weapon; the teen was a caller capable of summoning, as far as anyone knew, any mundane non-maker weapon, which he could share and distribute freely with his allies, albeit temporarily; they disappeared after a minute or five from all known accounts. Mauvist was still Mauvist despite the change in affiliation: plastic purple outfit with an oil-shimmer rainbow cloak, and a red gasmask to top it off. There were currently three of him, one on the bench and two behind.

At our approach, Aetherna and Changelinger gave us a nod and left. Mauvist's clones vanished in response and the villain visibly unwound at the adults leaving, though I noticed that all the other Principate members hardly changed; they looked as relaxed as before. March all but sighed as Crowsong and I joined her much to her relief. She and I whispered a quick 'hi' to each other before walking up to the rogues. Prince Enmon, the poser, pretended to look at a watch he didn't carry.

"That has to be a record. You two really came from Northside?"

"Yep," I said. We came from The Hub, really, but he didn't need to know that.

"I can turn into motorcycle. Motor Spirit's maker-cycle to be exact." We took a seat on the edge of the fountain directly opposite the Principate-occupied bench.

"Huh. Interesting," he said, "I thought you could only turn into animals." He looked away for a moment before shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter. Let's get this over with quickly – or do we all need to introduce one another?" Seeing no one respond, "Thought so. Now, auntie said you – or the Sentinels at large – wish to discuss something?" Crowsong took a step forward to speak, but paused for a second.

"Auntie?"

"Aetherna," Enmon said.

"No, I got that, but why 'auntie'?"

"Ah." He nodded.

"The term 'auntie' is more of a… a title, a term of endearment mixed with respect. The real word is gone of course, but the translatory effect of the Unification of Language took it and a thousand similar words from a thousand different languages, and then subjugated it all under the English word 'auntie'.

"And as for why we-""Just you," Armamentarium interjected.

"-why we," Enmon emphasized, "call Aetherna that: she was the first masked to give us a friendly 'welcome to Charm'-speech on our, what, fifth night out?"

"Yeah, right," Armamentarium said, scoffing.

"If you call scowls, crossed arms and floating menacingly with glowing spheres 'friendly'." Much like he himself was greeting us, then. Enmon looked at the other boy.

"Relatively friendly then, if you insist." Armamentarium muttered something I couldn't hear, dodging Enmon's gaze. The Prince turned back to us.

"Which is why we accepted her 'invitation' in the first place, despite us preferring to stay above Charm's masquerade." God, this guy was surprisingly stiff and formal – as was the whole situation, really. These were supposed to be the joyriding, party-wrecking, out-of-control teenaged rogues? Then again, he did style himself the prince of a principate. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"You're 'above' it all, huh," March said scathingly, though I recognized some hesitance in her voice. She didn't usually speak out. Did she take that much offense to what they said?

"So recruiting Mauvist was what, exactly?"

"The Jannacht brought many changes with them, and our interests aligned at the time – and now permanently," the Principate leader stated coldly, then followed wryly with, "One more thing to thank Nth-Sight for, I suppose. Is that what you wished to discuss? The villain in our teams?" Crowsong took the word again.

"It's related, in a way. You've noticed the changes in the gang situation, I take it?"

"Difficult not to."

"And something changing about Motorgang in particular?" I kept my eyes locked tight on all the Principate members. Mauvist didn't react, but perhaps that was to be expected; he had no link to Rajaparang besides his recent elevation to Principate member. Antrustion, like all throughout the conversation so far, didn't react much at all, staring off in a way that made it seem as if he wasn't paying attention.

Likewise, Prince Enmon kept his cool – and he didn't have the extravagant black plate armor to shield his body language. But Armamentarium, as might be expected from the temper he had shown before, didn't possess the same level of poise. A tightening of the fist, the hand inching ever so slightly toward his hammer, a subtle roll of his shoulder as if to unwind. Apart they didn't mean much, but together?

"Should we have?" Prince Enmon asked.

"Armamentarium did," I answered. His head shifted to me, then to Armamentarium, the two finding themselves staring at each other for a split second.

"Good eye," he said to me. Then Enmon turned back to Crowsong.

"Yes, we've caught wind of our… parent organization," a muffled cough echoed from inside Antrustion's armor, but a quick glare from Enmon stifled it, "turning their attentions on Charm. What of it?""'What of it?'" I echoed in surprise.

"You were sent here, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"But not here to pave the way, clearly," Crowsong continued.

"Crashing parties, playing tag with heroes and villains, wreaking havoc – that hardly sounds like the vanguard of an invasion force."

"Well-reasoned," Enmon said, sarcasm coloring his voice.

"But again, what does it have to do with us?" Crowsong continued, ignoring the question.

"No, not a vanguard at all. You were sent here in… exile, maybe? For safekeeping?" Neither Enmon nor anyone else reacted.

"But if your pattern of behavior is something to go by – your disrespect for authority, villainous or heroic, taunting civilians and especially parents – well, that hardly sounds like people on good terms with their 'parent' organization, now does it?" Again, they made no comment, but their non-reaction was in itself something of an admission. I took the word, taking a shot in the dark.

"Do you really want your parents to dictate what you do here as well?" Unfortunately, none rose to the bait. Everyone of the rogues – bar Mauvist who was fidgeting a bit, but he hardly counted – were like statues, betraying nothing. Nevertheless, Prince Enmon relented.

"And what do you propose, then? Stop the Rajaparang? The only way to do that is to pull Motorgang out by the roots, and the Sentinels' track record on that front aren't exactly encouraging." Indeed. The oldest gang and the oldest hero group of Charm had fought continuously for over four decades, Motorgang having been around since 2061 and the Sentinels since 2046. In all that time, they'd never managed to strike a definitive blow – a black mark on their, on our heroic career. But, "Not exactly," I said.

"Though it'd be nice if we could, we don't need to destroy Motorgang just to cut off the Rajaparang."

"We've found intel about a lot of their previous dealings," Crowsong said.

"Their network, their ships, their containers, what wares they smuggle; their entire modus operandi. Enough for us to be able to predict when and where future shipments come into port, and what they contain."

"All we have to do is strike hard, fast and decisively one time," March said.

"Target one of their largest, most important operation yet, capture a few of Motorgang's – and maybe Rajaparang's – masked to make it abundantly clear to them that operating in Charm is… strategically disadvantageous, and the alliance falls apart." Very good coordination there. Almost like we practiced this part of our pitch wink wink, nudge nudge. Prince Enmon's fingers idly tapped his knee. He looked to his companions – first Armamentarium, then Antrustion and Mauvist – none of whom seemed to react.

"And our role in all this?" he asked.

"Preferably? Support that definitive strike," Crowsong said.

"Whatever operation we wish to hit, it'll likely have a large number of Motorgang's heavy hitters there – and all but certainly Blazin himself." She shrugged.

"But ultimately, it's all up to you what and how much you want to contribute." Silence returned, until Enmon, with a far-too-casual looking shrug, said, "Okay."

"…Okay?" Crowsong said, taken back.

"Yes. Okay."

"…Just like that?" Enmon nodded.

"Yup." Yup?

"Oh thank God," Mauvist said, letting out a deep sigh as if he'd been holding his breath.

"That was… I don't even know what that was."

"Enmon," Antrustion's heavy voice boomed from within his metal shell, "that was the lamest shit we've ever done." He said that, but I could detect more than a hint of subdued laughter in his voice.

"Did we really have to do it this way?" Enmon shrugged.

"Probably not, but it was funnier like this." I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. Funnier?

"Funnier?" Crowsong said, echoing my thoughts – and my confusion.

"What, this cold-hearted-business-prince schtick was all just some joke?"

"Eh." Enmon waggled his hand.

"Give it 50/50. Was serious about the agreement though; that one's a resounding 'yep' from me." He laughed as his comrades groaned.

"But c'mon, you should've seen yourselves when you arrived. Racing in record time all the way from Northside to here in a hurry, and for what? A business meeting?" He snorted.

"You vigilantes should all just live a little. Aren't y'all teens?

"'Y'all'? What did he think he was, a Southstateser?

"Pain in my fucking ass is what it was," Armamentarium groused.

"What did I do in my past lives to deserve you?"

"Your wheel's spun all the way around," Enmon said, affecting wisdom by stroking a fake beard underneath his goddamn fox mask, "and your reward is me." March groaned in pain, and Crowsong whispered a "Jesus Christ," under her breath before looking down and shaking her head.

"Why do all this?" I wasn't even pissed at him; just confused. Enmon shrugged.

"A test to see if you were serious about this? To get a measure of your characters? A requirement for my power to function? A way to pass the time and make the boring shit less boring?" Another shrug.

"Who knows. Take your pick; all are true in a way." God these guys were annoying. X"And you're sure they're serious?" Rhennish asked over the phone. We had called him the moment we exchanged contacts and hashed out what little detail we needed to with the Principate. I was sorely tempted to say '50/50' out of spite, but Amber beat me to the punch.

"As serious as they can be, yes," she said.

"Though I hope I'll never have to 'negotiate' with them again. Couldn't you have warned us or something?" Aetherna and Changelinger had returned, thought they'd never been far away in the first place. Only far enough to give the Principate the veneer of being alone with Naomi, Amber and I. Whether it actually fooled them, I didn't know.

"What was there to warn about?" Aetherna said.

"You've read the information we had on them. What part of it gave the impression that they were serious people?" Fair enough.

"There's a difference between not being serious and being… that," Naomi complained – whined, really.

"Didn't like them?" Rhennish asked.

"They made me feel like an idiot for caring," she said. I gave her shoulder a pat and a reassuring squeeze.

"Either way, they're in," Amber said.

"As expected, they've got some kind of issue with the Rajaparang. Parental, if their none-too-subtle hints were anything to go by."

"Unless that was part of the joke too," I added. Amber shrugged but made no comment.

"Best not speculate on that," Mantellan said.

"Even if they volunteered that information, it strays too close still to their civilian identities."

"Regardless, very good work there, you three," Rhennish said. Beside me, Naomi puffed up her chest with pride.

"With four extra masked committing to the operation, we're good to go once all our scouting missions and confirmation raid are done."

"Any information on the when?" Amber asked. Rhennish shook his head.

"Unfortunately, it'll likely be on short notice. As we've already seen, we have yet to catch all the companies and shipping container codes, so our net has more than a few holes in them. We'll have to aim for something both critical and obvious enough to get caught within our web." He sighed in frustration.

"A difficult task."

"Maybe Prince Enmon could help?" Naomi suggested.

"We don't know his exact powers, but if what he's said is true about using it to make sure the conversation went the way he wanted to, and if we consider his team's luck with both evading capture and never provoking important people enough for either the heroes or villains to lash out, he must have some form of useful social and/or teamwork-based power."

"Some kind of tactician, maybe?" Mantellan speculated, using an older term for a kind of augur-master combo.

"It would explain what I've seen from their encounters with Prospectus and Acolytes. Too little damage for a non-staged masked fight."

"We need to iron out details of their powers for the fight itself anyhow, so we'll see," Rhennish said.

"Can you do it, March?" She looked visibly taken aback by the request, but puffed her chest out right after.

"Yes, I will."

"Good," Rhennish said, failing to mask the pride in his voice.

"Anything else to add." No one spoke.

"Then I'll relay what we've agreed on to Blade Eater and Doombell. See you all again soon." And with that, he hung up. I leaned toward Naomi.

"If you need any help…" She shook her head.

"No. I can do this." I nodded, then turned to the group in general.

"So, what do we do now? Go our separate ways?" Indicating Amber and I, "Our schedule is empty." March straightened in excitement, and Changelinger looked to Aetherna. The enchantress herself looked up at the sky for a brief moment, rubbing her chin.

"…Our base is close by," she said eventually.

"And it'd be a shame to pass on the opportunity. How about a teambuilding exercise?" We all agreed and went to their base – an (of course abandoned) old gym not too far away from the park. There, we sparred and got used to each other's powers, Changelinger even allowing me to try and mimic a few of his forms. Which, surprise surprise, I could! Unlike with Naomi's ghostly summons, his forms were substantial enough to grasp. But alas, they didn't live up to the imagination.

That wasn't to say they were entirely useless. His fae-form and some kind of gray-skinned half-giant worked perfectly fine, and the latter especially was a good half-step towards gorilla-level usefulness. But on whatever level my power decided these things, none fell into the maker-tech kind of usefulness. I didn't get any of the cool abilities that Changelinger did – hell, the pixie form I got couldn't even fly despite its little dragonfly wings.

And due to the limitations of my own powers, I couldn't copy a form more than once, so no infinite form farming on Changelinger. How frustrating. I could almost swear my power was fucking with me by this point. Either way, it was another black mark against my creator.