— CHAPTER FOURTY-SIX —

  A Grimm Outlook

  (Willard)

  The dripping water echoed through the stone corridor like a metronome underscored by the low roar of distant water channels. Moss covered the damp, slimy bricks in the wall, and puddles mirrored the old lanterns above. At the end of the corridor, I rounded a corner and stepped through the arched doorway into what we'd started calling the Newsroom. It was an empty little rest room that we had converted into our operational headquarters.

  The place was a hive of activity. A bank of tables were arrayed across one side, where our writers hunched over notebooks and clacking typewriters. A cork board covered the wall opposite them with red string connecting various officials to their known associates and business interests. A collection of photographs hung from a line stretched across another section, waiting for use in an article or as reference material. It was all a little dingy and held together by tape, but it was ours, and it was wonderful.

  In the corner right next to the door was the beating heart of our operation: a massive printing press we'd assembled out of hand-gathered resources. Nox stood beside it, his lanky frame bent over the mechanism as he fed blank parchment into one end. The machine chugged and whirred, spitting out freshly printed pamphlets that collected in neat stacks at the other end.

  Lavish Gifts, Empty Pockets: The Trade Union's Dirty Secrets

  While the citizens of Celestia Grand struggle to make ends meet, the upper ranks of the Trade Union and World Guard live in obscene luxury. Recent investigation has exposed a disturbing trend - high-ranking officials have been handing out extravagant gifts to their friends and allies, all while the average worker can barely afford rent.

  When confronted, officials didn't deny the accusations. Instead, they claimed that they were spending their own money. But that raises an even bigger question - why are they being paid so much in the first place?

  A System Rigged Against Its People

  The economic landscape continues to tilt against those who actually keep the city running. Consider the following:

  - Rent remains unattainable for most citizens, forcing many to live in NPC-owned housing, unable to afford a home of their own. The lack of protections on these NPC houses has left the door literally open for burglary, and crime rates continue to grow in neighborhoods with primarily NPC-owned buildings.

  - The Protectorate remains critically underfunded. Next quarter, several classes and training programs were cut due to budget constraints.

  - Crafting material prices keep climbing as production capacity expands. Yet the increasing number of craftsmen leaves the price of crafted goods falling, leaving laborers with tighter margins and less pay.

  Meanwhile, governmental elites have no trouble lining their pockets. If they have so much disposable income, why isn't it being reinvested into the economy? Why isn't it going toward education, security, or worker protections?

  Who's Paying for This?

  It's clear that something is deeply wrong. Either these officials are siphoning funds that should be going toward public services, or the government's pay scale is so wildly unbalanced that a select few can hoard unimaginable wealth while the rest of us scrape by.

  Where is all this money coming from?

  Where is it actually going?

  Until the Guard opens its books for full transparency, we can assume only one thing - we're the ones paying for their luxury.

  It... was unfortunately standard fare, but we felt it was important to raise awareness.

  "Morning, Will." Nox called out, glancing up from the machine.

  "Hey, Nox." I waved back. "Anything new?"

  "Nope, everything's running smoothly." He gestured to the growing pile of pamphlets. "We should get these out of here tonight. The Unaffiliated Corp will distribute tomorrow."

  "Good. That's good."

  Nox waved for me to come over. "We also just got these pictures of Rivera visiting the Red Light District. Quite the party he had - check it out." He pulled up his menu and opened his photo album to show me a slideshow of the head of the Trade Union with his suit disheveled, tie loosened as he draped his arms around two women whose elaborate costumes marked them as employees of one of the mafia guilds' lounges. Looked like they were trying to drag him out the door, too.

  The night didn't end there, however. More photos showed him drinking from a crystal goblet filled with luminescent blue liquid - no clue what it was, but I could only imagine it was on the Guard's 'controlled and dangerous substances' list.

  "I know we want to keep attention away from the red light district," Nox said, scrolling through the images, "but I think this one would really hurt the Trade Union. Could be our next front page."

  I shook my head. "Nox, no. We're not a tabloid - we only want to publish things the people need to know."

  "People love their gossip and scandals." Nox said with a shrug. "We could get a bigger following to make the real messages spread further - more eyes on this if we lead with something juicy." He pointed to the stack of pamphlets rolling off the press.

  "Or it'll tank our credibility. We need people to trust us. The minute we start publishing photos of officials in lounges, we become just another gossip rag."

  "But it shows their hypocrisy!" Nox insisted. "Rivera gave that speech last week about 'moral fortitude in business' while he's getting cozy with the mafia!"

  "Then we report on the business connections, if we can prove them." I replied. "The fact that he likes to party isn't news. Half the World Guard - half the city, probably, visits those lounges when they're off duty."

  Nox loaded another batch of blank pamphlets into the machine. "We can talk about it later. Grey wants to talk to you - he's got some problems with those new writers you wanted to bring on."

  I sighed. "Of course he does."

  Across the room, Grey and Siegfried were sat at the editing desk. Grey was gesturing emphatically, his usually stern face even more intense as he made whatever point he was driving at. Siegfried was nodding along thoughtfully, occasionally offering what appeared to be reasonable counterpoints judging by Grey's increasingly frustrated expression.

  I slapped Nox on the back and said, "Thanks, talk to you later."

  I navigated between the busy desks, nodding at a few of the writers as I made my way toward the back of the room.

  Seeing me, Grey threw his hands up in frustrated incredulity. "Really?! You want to bring in those two?! Seriously?!"

  I shrugged. "I think they have the skills for it - they're good investigators, they're willing to get dirty, and they know how to keep things quiet."

  "They're clowns!" he scoffed. "Have you read their articles? They did a piece on pet salons last week, and they unironically used the line..." He pulled up his messages and scrolled through them. "I gad to write this down. 'The ruff competition among these businesses is raising the woof on pet grooming standards!' Is that the foot we want to put out there?! Really?!"

  I couldn't help the smirk creeping onto my face. "We've got to put our best paw forward! With writing like this, we'll be the furst thing anyone talks about!"

  "We had a pawsitively delightful time interviewing the furry clients!" Grey continued, looking like he was about to rip his hair out. "Siegfried, please, back me up here!"

  Siegfried leaned back in his chair, his calm demeanor unaffected by Grey's intensity. "I'm with Willard on this. They've proven themselves trustworthy."

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  "Loyal as golden retrievers." I nodded.

  From the writer's tables, Liz called out, "Otterly dependable!"

  Grey groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm surrounded by idiots with bad puns."

  "Better than being surrounded by enemies with good aim." I said.

  "Matsen will be on my side!" Grey tapped his knuckles on the desk. "We'll put it to a vote later, when he's back!"

  I leaned against one of the editor's desks, crossing my arms. "Speaking of which, how do you think they're doing up there?"

  Due to the constrained nature of the current section - inside the curtain wall - the Vanguard had been forced to work together on a single path of progression. The boss fight teams consisted of members from among all the guilds, weighted by membership numbers.

  That system had left the minor guilds very short of slots. We'd chosen Matsen to represent us for the current boss, and he was up there now, likely in the middle of yet another attempt.

  "Eight percent into the fight last time, according to the last update he sent." Siegfried said. "They're making incremental progress."

  Grey, predictably, rolled his eyes at the mere mention of the raid. He hadn't shown any reservation about complaining at how little we were allowed to participate. "Incremental is right. At this rate, we'll clear the Citadel in about twenty years."

  "Hey, any progress is good progress." I said, trying to maintain some optimism. "Why don't you take the next fight? I don't mind if you take my slot."

  Grey's scowl deepened. "I don't want to lead a little five-man team - I want to plan the fight! They don't give us any say in the strategy!"

  At that moment, Trevor burst into the room. His usually pale face was flushed bright red, and sweat had plastered his sandy hair to his forehead. For a moment, he couldn't speak, just wildly waved his arms.

  "Fire!" he finally managed to shout between desperate gasps. "Fire!"

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to him.

  "Fire where?" I asked.

  Siegfried quickly walked over and set Trevor in a chair. "Calm down, deep breath. What's wrong?"

  Trevor grabbed Siegfried's arm with white-knuckled intensity. "The Citadel is going up in flames!" he wheezed, the words tumbling out between gulps of air. "It's... you gotta see it!"

  Grey shouted, "Why didn't you send a message?!"

  "I- I panicked!" Trevor squeaked.

  The place exploded into chaos. Papers scattered as the writers jumped up from their seats.

  "Complain later, Grey!" I sprinted toward the exit with Siegfried and Grey right behind me. We raced through the sewer corridors for the nearest surface exit.

  December had come, and with it Celestia Grand had transformed in preparation for the winter holidays. Celestivus, the in-game event was called. Snow blanketed the city in pristine white drifts, piling on rooftops like frosting on gingerbread houses. Icicles hung from streetlamps and eaves, catching the cold winter light and fragmenting it into countless tiny rainbows that decorated the streets.

  The NPCs had fully embraced the seasonal shift, bundled up in thick wool coats, knitted scarves, and fur-lined boots as they went about their routines. Some shoveled snow from the main thoroughfares. Others hung wreaths of evergreen and holly on doors or strung enchanted lights along shopfronts. The more sophisticated NPC shopkeepers had transformed their window displays into miniature winter scenes - toy workshops with tiny animated elves hammering away at wooden toys, or snow-covered villages with miniature sleighs circling overhead.

  In Syzygy Square, the fountains had been transformed into ice sculpture gardens, the water frozen mid-spray and carved into fantastical creatures. Children built snowmen and giggled as they tossed snowballs at each other and occasionally at the passing adults.

  Above the city, the Citadel loomed on the horizon. Its dark stone walls absorbed what little sunlight filtered through the perpetually overcast December sky, making it appear as an even darker silhouette on the white-grey sky. The walls surrounding it were several hundred feet high and was set on a massive motte that rose over the city to begin with - we could see it as soon as we got outside.

  Over the past weeks, we had been working our way through the inside. The hidden entrance in the gardens entered into the interior of the curtain wall somewhere below ground level, then weaved back and forth up the interior. We'd fought all the way up to the top, and the current target was the wall walk - that was the arena for the captain of the archery corps, presumably the last boss of the section before we went inside the keep's body. As soon as anyone stepped foot on the exposed sections of the wall, his unit of archers would fire volleys of arrows on them, and our first attempts had a hard time coordinating our moves between the pieces of cover.

  I don't know how they managed to overcome the mechanics, but that fight was not what was currently happening up there.

  Now, massive plumes of black smoke rose from the walls, clouding the view of the spires. Flickers of red flame burned even from this distance. In the haze, something was moving - something large: a gargoyle, a massive statue of a winged creature, flying through the air. It resembled one of the animated guards that patrolled the city's rooftops in the Constellation District, only about ten times larger, and it was broken - pieces of stone were shattered, especially at the joints.

  The streets became more crowded as we approached the motte. We pushed through the throng to the line where the city's buildings ended and the bare, snow-covered hillside began. To my surprise, the mood was far from panicked. In fact, it was downright festive. Dozens of players had spread blankets on the snow and were having impromptu picnics as they watched the smoke and occasional flashes of light from within the Citadel's walls. Some had even set up small tents or pavilions, complete with braziers for warmth and tables laden with food and drink.

  "They're having a goddamn party." Grey said incredulously.

  Siegfried shook his head. "They think it's part of the show."

  A particularly rowdy group had started a snowball fight, shrieking with laughter as they pelted each other with packed snow. Others stood in small clusters, pointing and commenting on the action like they were standing around the watercooler. Many were watching through binoculars sold by an enterprising hawker weaving through the crowd.

  On the edge of the crowd, by a street that led toward the Trade Union offices, I spotted Quartz - another one of Grey's guild members - together with Excalibur. They were eating popcorn.

  Scanning the crowd as I approached, I asked, "Is someone selling popcorn?"

  Through a mouthful, Quartz said, "Mixed chocolate and caramel corn with nuts!"

  Excalibur added, "Christmas festival vendors started showing up in the markets. It's the good stuff - you should stock up for the whole year. ... I wonder how much of a markup people will pay for this next summer."

  "Good to know." I said. "But what happened? What's going on up there?"

  Quartz gave a shrug, reaching for more popcorn. "A bunch of loud booms, then smoke everywhere. That big stone thing started flying around about ten minutes ago."

  "And you're not worried?"

  "They'll tell us if something is wrong, wouldn't they?"

  Before I could respond, Grey's voice cut across the crowd.

  "Willard!"

  I turned to see Grey and Nox standing a short distance away, slightly removed from the main crowd. Nox had his UI menu open and hovering in front of him as Grey peered over his shoulder, pointing at something on the display.

  "I should go see what they found. You two keep up the good work." I told the girls.

  Excalibur nodded, already reaching for the popcorn bag again. "Let me know if there's another resource gate up there - I want to get the investments in before the public announcement."

  I made my way over to Grey and Nox. "What did you find?" I asked.

  Grey pointed to the screen, where a message was open. "We got in contact with Matsen."

  Nox read it out, "So we managed to beat the boss - only two deaths, one Tempest and one Doughnuts - but then something crawled out of the walls. It possessed one of the golems on the roof, and now it's got us pinned into cover. If we step into the open, it'll swoop and bomb us with this goop that eats right through armor. We're holding on, but we can't figure out how to fight back. Rose is on the west side trying to rally us together, but no one can get to her."

  "Sounds like that thing from Halloween." I said.

  Nox said, "Must be a milestone encounter. We're at the end of the second wing."

  "So how do we kill it?" I asked.

  "There must be some way to replicate what that team did with the first one." Nox said. "They used some kind of crystal, right?"

  "Sure, but where did that come from?" I asked.

  Grey scanned the crowd. "Where did Siegfried get to? Siegfried!"

  Siegfried came jogging up the street behind us, followed by Trevor and Liz. "What's the situation?"

  Grey gave him a brief, and Siegfried rubbed his chin in thought.

  "Those crystals from Halloween just... appeared in the Gardens' boss arenas. If this is the same type of encounter, then they should be inside the upper floors of the curtain walls."

  Nox immediately relayed that to Matsen.

  "But Rose is up there, isn't she?" Siegfried continued. "She should know that already."

  We waited in tense silence as Nox's UI pinged with Matsen's response.

  "He says: 'We can't get to the stairs - this thing is too aggro. Every time someone tries to make a break for it, that monster swoops down. Already lost three more trying.'"

  I said, "Then maybe they need someone to search from the bottom up. How many people do we have here? Trev, Liz, I see you two..."

  Grey straightened up, scanning the crowd again. "Quartz!"

  Quartz detached herself from the crowd and ambled over, still munching on her popcorn. "What's going on, Boss?" she asked, extending the popcorn bag toward Grey, who ignored it with a scowl.

  "We're going in there!" he said, pulling up his own menu and swapping into his combat gear.

  Liz said, "Carla was right behind us - she wanted to finish writing a thought."

  "Lance and Nap were nearby when I left." Trevor added. "I'll call them."

  Within minutes, our team had assembled - all six Rangers, the three from Ruin, and Siegfried. Grey, Siegfried, and Lance, as their group's dedicated tanks, equipped full suits of armor. So did I, but as a Paladin, I took a more hybrid role - the three of them could hold down the front. Nox and Quartz were in lighter chainmail as dedicated melee DPS. The other four didn't need to change gear - Liz and Carla, our gunner and ranger respectively, always wore their combat equipment. And the healers, Trevor and Napoleon, didn't have dedicated combat sets to begin with - they got the stats off the gear then threw whatever they wanted over it cosmetically. For Nap, that was a loosely buttoned shirt and dress pants, and Trev had a winter coat and snow pants.

  As we went through our equipment, Grey said, "You all remember what those things around the Heart were like on Halloween. There might be more than the gargoyle waiting for us in there. Don't let your guard down."

  With quick nods and some last minute belt loadout adjustments, the ten of us charged up the side of the motte.