#cohost

Ilia sat on a stool in a far corner of the workshop, unbothered by the clanging of metal as she read her book. Occasionally, she glanced up to admire Violet at work across the room, then returned her gaze to the book with a smile.

“Hey there Ilia, long time no see!” came a voice from the doorway behind her.

Ilia gently closed the book and turned around in her seat. “Oh, Orchid! It really has been a while, hasn’t it. What brings you here?”

Reznax sighed, shuffling papers around on her desk. “Look, I’m sure she’s great at what she does, I just don’t see how she fits into Lust’s mission.”

“You were the one all excited about getting a transfer in from Sleep Paralysis!” Zalga glared across the desk at her.

“Well, yeah, there’s a lot of kink potential there, exactly the sort of thing clients are looking for these days! But, this,” Reznax gestured vaguely, “really isn’t what I had in mind!”

Jess took a slow swig from the thermos flask on her hip, savoring the flavor of Von’s “House Blend”. It’d only get her so far, but it was still worlds better than the legal stuff. Tasted better, too – somehow, Von could work that ubiquitous shitty synthcaf astringency into something actually drinkable.

“I’ve got the cameras,” Nine’s voice came in over Jess’s earpiece. “One guard at the front desk, two on the inner doors, a bunch more patrolling. And… perfect, someone’s heading out. Inner doors opening in 3, 2, 1, now.”

They reined in their horses after a long afternoon’s ride, left them on the edge of town, wandered off to take in the sights. One horse clad in Kevlar body armor; one weighed down with panniers and satchels; one with its head ensconced in a gas mask; and one unadorned but diligently cared-for, well-fed, pelt spotless.

Holstered guns visible on their belt, Defend walked nervously through the streets, scanning the faces around them for any sign of aggression. They gave strangers a wide berth as they went about their errands. In their wake, townsfolk began locking doors, boarding up windows. Some hunkered down in their basements; others made sure their own guns were loaded and ready.

“Okay, the Hot Wheels Maneuver still needs more workshopping, but we’ll get it perfect next time.” Green stepped into the hideout through a warp in space, Red in tow. She brushed at a soot stain on the smoldering remains of her uniform, frowning as it refused to wipe off. “I think if you wait another half-second for my ring to stabilize before you launch the fireball into it, we oughta be able to – oh, hey Yellow. How’s it going?”

These stones have no name. They bear markings carved with care and precision, they stand neatly arranged in a perfect circle, but no trace of their origin remains to history. It’s too convenient; maybe this is where my mind betrays me again, floor crumbling under me just as the light of the exit comes into view. But it’s all I have. If any of this is real, I’ll know soon enough. I’ll know.

BOY OF TALL HOUSE COME OUT AFTER SNOWFALL, MANY YEARS. RUN WITH HOUSEWOLF. I STEAL HIS HAT. OLDER, RIDE THROUGH FOREST IN ROARINGSHELL, OUT BEYOND TO BARREN TOWERS AND BACK. OTHER ROARINGSHELLS COME NOW, BRIGHT-EYED, HOWLING. HOUSEWOLF OLD, LONELY, HOWLING TOO. …

Harrisley gingerly puts down the leaf, covered in a fine spidery writing. “And, this is…?”

“north wind... i transsslate...“ says the Walker Amid The Pines, in a voice that is the rustling of swaying branches.

“The first thing you must understand about the Wizards of the First Age is this: the Wizards of the Second Age dubbed themselves ‘wizards’ after painstakingly assembling half-understood fragments of their art; the Wizards of the Third Age inherited the barest slivers of surviving knowledge from the Second Age, and called themselves ‘wizards’ in turn; and so it goes. Though we of the Sixth Age have seen fit to adopt the same title, we must not imagine ourselves the equals of our forebears. If the greatest and most learned among us were to seek to comprehend the magics of the First Age, they would be as an ant contemplating the gulf between galaxies.

“Oh, dear. That is quite a dilemma.”

Rosandra waited for As-The-Spider-Weaves-And-Weaves-Again to continue, doing her best to stay patient. Her demonic moral development research project had been slow going so far, but this could finally be the progress she needed to get her faculty advisor to take her seriously.

“The suffering of five humans facing their rapidly-impending gruesome demise is exquisite, certainly; but compared to just one who believes themself to have escaped danger, only to suddenly be marked for death… And confronted with the knowledge that another actively chose to murder them, rather than the five dying in a mere accident…” It licks its lips. “I suppose personally, I’ve always favored quality over quantity. Although – these humans who’ve all been tied up at the same train junction, are they acquainted with one another? If the one on the other track were forced to live with the guilt and isolation of being the only survivor among their group of friends, when their death alone could have saved all the others – that might well be the best of both worlds, wouldn’t it… Oh! Can I hand the lever to one of the five on the main track, force them to make the choice? But then I suppose that having control of the situation themselves could just as easily create assurance and purpose, rather than guilt and recrimination… You humans really do come up with such devious conundra!”

Six re-emerges through the hatch onto the cramped bridge, swearing in several languages.

“How bad is it?” Anya asks, tossing over a ration pouch.

Six catches it and takes a long swig before answering. “Fucked, is how bad. That missile the Blowjob Brothers hit us with had a bio payload, one of those engineered slime molds the fucking Accordance use for sabotage ops. Kill to know how the hell the bastards got their hands on that shit… Anyway, it ate half the engine before I could vent it, plus I think some of it might’ve gotten into the fuel lines, so I’m gonna have to empty the tanks, decontaminate the fuel, flush the whole system before I can even start on repairs…” She does some quick mental math. “Five days.”