Chapter One-Hundred-Two – World Hunters Association – Part Two

  Those who seek death, often find it.

  -Seraphine Goddess of Fate-

  The mood is cold like the air. There is a silence that seems to stretch on for an unnatural amount of time as Chairman Olivers waits for Tran and us to get in.

  “I don’t think I want to ride with you,” Tran says bluntly, tilting his head, “You look kind of douchey.”

  Starman roars with laughter, putting his arm around Tran again, “My little friend has excellent eyesight.” Starman grins at Olivers, “Run along then.”

  Olivers crooks a smile back, you don’t need to know the man to know that he’s pissed as he seethes, “You do not tell me what to do, Starboy.”

  Starman’s smile falters, his arm slides off Tran’s shoulder and he cocks his head to the side, “Say it again… I dare you little man.”

  The respective entourages start eyeing each other as hands move to their weapon holsters. Well, I guess things aren’t peachy inside the WHA. I didn’t know there was inner turmoil. Why be surprised though.

  “Star…” Olivers face twitches, “Boy.”

  Starman’s eyes widen, as though he’s genuinely shocked that Olivers had the balls to say it again. To be honest, I’m a little surprised too, I thought heroes were treated better. He takes off one of his white and gold gloves and tosses it at Olivers who just squints at it, then back at him.

  “Jennifer!” Starman barks, not taking his eyes off of Olivers.

  “Lord.”

  “Glove me.”

  “Um… yes, lord.”

  Jennifer bends down and picks up the glove and puts it back on Starman’s hand.

  “I have never felt so underappreciated, and insulted, in all my years working with the WHA…”

  “For the WHA,” Olivers corrects, folding his arms, “You’re not exactly a star hero, Starboy.”

  “Starman!” he retorts, his cool demeanor slipping, “How dare you!” He whips his head to Jennifer, “How dare he!”

  “Right, lord, proper asshole.”

  “Jennifer, check my calendar, I want to smack the grin off of his greasy face.”

  “Okay,” she says, pulling up a datapad, scrolling through it quickly, “You have an opening next month on a Saturday.”

  “Not that Saturday, that is my special day off.”

  “Um, okay,” she scrolls more, “In three months you have a Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Not on a Wednesday,” Starman groans, “It must be at the beginning of the week, so he can feel the shame for the entire work week.”

  Olivers blinks at him then crosses his arms.

  “Okay…” Jennifer says, knotting her brow, “Your next available is in seven months on a Monday.”

  “Sunday is the beginning of the week, Jennifer, everyone knows this!”

  Do they though? I mean, I know it is technically for most calendars, but Sunday is usually a day off. Part of the weekend. I’m with Jennifer on this one.

  “Enough!” Olivers shouts, shaking his head, “You’re a fucking joke.” He turns to Tran, “Are you coming willingly or not?”

  “Not,” Tran says.

  “Fine then we’ll just…”

  Clayton steps forward, his aura exploding with ravenous murderous intent, you can feel it in the air, like a cold knife against your neck. It’s one of his skills, Aura of Despair. Olivers swallows and his men immediately take a step back.

  “I will carve any hand that touches my charge.”

  None of them move forward.

  “You might be thinking, he’s only one man, we’ll be able to kill him… but I promise you,” he spins the ruby daggers and the air pulses with a thicker despair, “More than half of you will die before you even scratch me.”

  I’ve seen his handiwork before firsthand; he was at the front of the charge during our war against Azeroc’s world. If I had chips to bet, I’d put them all on him. Every single one. He’s the reason that Greymore let us go, because he trusts that Clayton can handle anything they throw at us.

  “You’re threatening a Chairman of…” Olivers begins.

  “You’re the first whose head will roll.”

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  Olivers grimaces, and after a few more moments he gives a fake cordial smile, “This has been enlightening. I’m running late for an important meeting. Star… Starman, don’t dawdle, the rest of the chairs are waiting.”

  He steps back without taking his eyes off of Clayton. He doesn’t stop watching him until the door of his SUV closes and they leave, all twenty of them.

  “Damn,” Tran breathes, a smile finding his mouth, “That was fucking cool.”

  Starman gives Clayton an appraising look, “If you ever want a job…”

  Clayton glares at him.

  “Right, well, shall we?” Starman nervously chuckles.

  ***

  The ride from the private airport area to the WHA headquarters was mostly silent, besides Tran fanboying over Clayton. This is the quietest that I’ve seen Starman be, he’s constantly shifting while looking at Clayton. I don’t think they realized our team had high leveled people on it. Clayton and Zero are both over level thirty. Both of them are like a small army. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was perched on a rooftop near here. Her Long Shot ability is… frightening.

  Clayton has been messaging on his system interface, his expression changed earlier for a brief moment, like he didn’t like one of the messages, but he didn’t tell me what it said. He just smiled and ruffled my hair. Something’s bothering him though, besides the lack of backup.

  Meanwhile, my interface is buzzing constantly from a very worried girlfriend.

  [ SPC Cortez: Jimmy, you promised every five minutes proof of life. ]

  [ SPC Novak: Babe, relax, I’m fine. Every five is a bit excessive, no? ]

  [ SPC Cortez: I don’t like this. It’s too sudden, too unknown. What are you thinking? ]

  I sigh, what am I thinking? That this is a good opportunity to learn more about the heroes and the WHA. Do I like that my friend is in danger because they think he’s me? No, I don’t like that. Tran’s not stupid, he read the room and rolled the dice. He’s good like that. I’m not sure we’ll get another chance to look at what the WHA is offering. After this security breach I’m sure that Alveria will remove some of our autonomy again. It is what it is. Before that happens, I need to make sure that I have enough things to bargain for Mira and freedom.

  Or, if the offer from the WHA is compelling enough… I’d already talked with Fisban and Greymore about this potential situation after we got screwed by Alveria. They said they’d stand by me regardless. They didn’t seem keen on the idea though. Both are devils to work with, and as they say, work with the devil you know.

  Another message pops up.

  [ SPC Cortez: Jimmy? You okay?]

  [ SPC Novak: I’m still fine. How are you?]

  She doesn’t reply right away, so I’m guessing it’s a long response. Tran is busy trying to coax details from Starman again. He’s surprisingly good at this.

  “So like, how often do they make you go to boring meetings?”

  “Too often, my little friend, though most are remote meetings, they like to keep the heroes separated. Never three in the same place at the same time.”

  “But I’ve seen all of you together on the TV before?”

  “Ah,” Starman smiles, “Good editing.”

  “So, will I get someone like Jennifer?”

  “You actually want someone like her?” Starman asks with surprise.

  “Yeah, she seems squared away,” Tran shrugs, “And she’s beautiful.”

  Jennifer turns from the front passenger seat and looks at Tran for a few moments, the look they exchange is… I’m not really sure how to describe it. Like a mix of interest and fuck off.

  “Your definition of beauty is strange, my little friend.”

  “We’re here,” the driver says finally.

  “Ah, perfect.”

  Ahead of us is an armed security checkpoint, seventeen guards patrol this entrance. Each wears all black with body armor and six magazines and an assortment of other items on their belts. They have dogs sniffing the vehicles and people checking underneath with mirrors.

  The inspection takes less time for us since Starman is with us. They give him a strange salute, like he’s an officer or something. Starman ignores it, he’s busy in his interface as well. I wonder what he’s up to.

  The corridor that the vehicle moves through takes us underground. A machine grabs the wheels locking it in place and the doors open. There’s an escort of security waiting for us. They wand us but let Tran and Starman walk by.

  “You’re not taking these,” Clayton warns with his hands on his daggers.

  The guards talk into an earpiece then nod to Clayton who walks by them. His head is on a swivel again, inspecting everything, looking for routes we can leave from in a hurry. It’s something Greymore had him instruct me on. Urban warfare isn’t really something we study much as regular soldiers in the UWO. The worlds we go to are not as developed as Earth. So there was little reason to. Greymore put me through quite a few training scenarios to make sure that I could handle myself if something like this happened. He’s more of a planner than I took him for initially, not as much as Tenny or Fisban, but still, he doesn’t fuck around when it comes to my safety.

  “Less than three paces at all times,” Clayton says.

  “I know.”

  “No matter what, we don’t separate.”

  “I know.”

  “Good, make sure Tran understands that too.”

  “He knows.”

  “Does he though?” Barlow asks, it’s the first time he’s spoken in the last hour. He’s been very quiet. Trying to be observant like Clayton, he’s been training with him a lot too. More than Tran.

  When we make it from the underground parking garage to the main building, there’s more security, these ones are less heavily dressed, but they still mean business. They frisk us as we enter, and they try to take Clayton’s knives.

  “You guys are being kind of rude,” Tran yawns, “Am I not allowed a bodyguard? If so, say so now, I’ll leave, you’re not the only ones that want me.”

  The security guards give him a puzzled look, I don’t think they know who Tran allegedly is, nor are they supposed to. They nod Clayton through after getting some kind of communication. Whoever is in charge was listening though.

  “Well done, Tran,” I say quietly.

  “I’m not coming in here without him armed,” Tran says stretching his neck, “I’m not that dumb. Besides, you guys always say I’m doing dumb shit, maybe you’re just not paying attention to the results.”

  “Says the guy who committed genocide on a world with his shit,” Barlow gripes.

  “It was one time, fucking hell,” Tran groans, “It happened so long ago, get over it.”

  “It happened days ago, dude.”

  “Meh. Result was we won.”

  “Less talking,” Clayton says.

  We step out of the security checkpoint into the main atrium, the ceiling stretches into the sky, thousands of glass shapes dangle above, lights cascade across them, giving a modern feel to it. There are hundreds of people here on the ground floor, many are wearing costumes like Starman, though less extravagantly douchey. They give him some kind of formal bow as he walks by.

  “Damn, it’s like Comicon here, awesome,” Tran says with a grin, then he turns like he’s had an epiphany, “Oh! That’s where I know Olivers from, you killed his nephew, remember, you bashed his brains in with that mace, what was it called again?”

  Fucking hell Tran, the guards that are escorting us give me a strange look.

  “Mace of the Ardent Flame, man, good times. Remember that stinky gnome that Gilroy blasted? He was all like where friend…”

  “Shut the fuck up, Leeroy,” Barlow warns, he only ever says Tran’s first name when he’s really pissed.

  “Oh, shit, yeah, sorry,” Tran says, giving a nervous smile as he sees the guards eyeing us differently. “Got excited, and I’m prone to tell lies. Apologies for the story. Um, can we continue?”

  “Goddamnit Tran,” Clayton groans, hands gripping his dagger hilts.