Chapter 295
In and out. Merchants section, Vernon, then back here. Ten minutes. Fifteen at most.
My pulse pounded in my neck as I stepped out of the gateway into the portal room. As my mind absorbed the incessant humming from the concave arrangement of magical entryways, it was a relief to find it empty. Not even Sybil was present, the woman that served as Hastur's surrogate and mouthpiece.
When I first joined the order, for the most part, people ignored me. Those out of the loop saw little more than a shady newcomer. The rare few with close ties to either Aaron or Sunny that knew Myrddin was the Ordinator gave me a wide berth. Not surprising, as I'd joined soon after the system powers that be drew the connection between the Ordinator and the mass casualty event that defined the first transposition. There were reasonable concerns that I'd snap at the first sign of confrontation, tapping into whatever god-forsaken powers I apparently had to transform the entire silo into an eldritch hellscape.
Despite the considerable bounty on my head, the smart ones stayed away. But impatience is the downfall of intellect, and eventually, the potential reward of power and escape from the dome grew too tantalizing to bear.
I'd dealt with the threats proportionally. Not equally—I'd learned quickly, in early days, if you only match what you're given, it eventually catches up in a bad way. By the same token, if the response is too devastating, you risk souring general opinion. Users here had friends, connections, people they were close to. A perfect, proportional response is one that left those friends and connections quietly shaking their heads as they visited you in the infirmary, not seething with anger and plotting vengeance. Thinking, "Damn, that sucks, but come on. You had it coming."
The real trick was making it look effortless. And that the mercy wasn't mercy at all.
For a while, it had worked. In contrast to the Order's many rules, Aaron didn't seem to care much if we fought among ourselves, fostering his old-world hedge fund philosophy of letting the strong rise to the top.
Lately, despite my best efforts, the random attacks and confrontations had gotten worse. Rumors circulated. There was too much blood in the water. And I had a feeling the members of the order would be feeling the stress of the timer as much as anyone else. Possibly more. Because unlike everyone who existed outside the order, it was common knowledge now that if you didn't want to deal with city-sized horseshit, there was one ticket out. And his name was Myrddin.
The double-security doors sequestering the portal room whooshed open to the third floor of the order's silo. Padded impacts echoed up from the half-dozen fenced-in octagons on the bottom floor, the stench of sweat mingling with cooking meat from the nearby cafeteria as dozens of conversations blended into a constant din of anxiety and paranoia.