* * *

“They’re making progress, at least,” I said. “Not too bad for being on their own.”

“Mmm,” Balldrick mused to himself, “Did you hear anything on the other end as he was talking?”

“I couldn’t make it out, but they sound fine.”

“I hope so.”

We had already verified the location of this level’s elevator, and were making our way closer to the Gremlin’s facility. The searchlights continued their repetitive pattern, sweeping the grounds between the facility and the forest. We’d decided to wait just outside their search perimeter for now.

We had just about settled into silence when Balldrick spoke up.

“What do you think happened with Magma Squad, Blast?”

“That’s a bit out of nowhere. And kind of late, to be honest. Why?”

“I’ve been thinking nonstop, and things just aren’t adding up no matter which way I go about it.”

“Well, I can’t fault you there. By all measures, they’re a better squad of knights than us, so for them to have been captured is, well, worrying to say the least.”

“That’s another thing: why capture them?” Balldrick said, pointing in my direction. “Clearly the Gremlins want something, but for knights of that caliber, wouldn’t it be better to get rid of them and be done with it? The risk of keeping them around for a chance at any information… it’s not worth it. Especially since, knowing Nether at least, he’d sooner die than whisper a hint at where the bathrooms in Haven are located.”

“That’s…”

“I’m just trying to think about it logically,” he said. “If it were the other way around, depending on where a group of powerful Gremlins got captured, it might just be easier to finish them off then and there, instead of trying to interrogate them in a makeshift camp or temporary base, or trying to transport them back to Haven for questioning. And if they got away at any point, chances are much, much lower that we’d be able to beat them again, especially with the intent to capture them.”

I paused before replying.

“Do you… think they’re still alive, then? You make a good point, considering where they got captured looks like it’s supposed to be a temporary operations zone, just for the deconstruction of the Clockwork’s level. But then, the structure being built doesn’t make sense, does it? It looked like it might be intended to hold prisoners.”

“That’s another thing. How is it the only response that HQ got from Magma Squad was those photos, and nothing else? Reconnaissance missions like that usually include details regarding the photos, and reports on any activity that couldn’t be captured. Why is this different? I doubt it has anything to do with Nether being the squad leader, if he’s changed as much as Rhendon implied.”

“No, yeah, I agree with you there. This goes beyond a simple difference of the squad leader’s course of actions compared to protocol. Something’s amiss.”

“Hmm…”

We both continued to mull over the issue in silence.

* * *

“Find anything yet?”

“You know, I think with each time you ask, the computer actually speeds up a bit. Try asking another dozen times in the next minute, see if that helps?”

It’d been about ten minutes since Zimthose had arrived to help Lance in the Archives. In that time, Lance had yet to find anything related to Project R, and both knights were getting antsy.

“I have half a mind to take over and figure it out myself right now.”

“If you were trying this, we’d be here for ten years, forget minutes!”

“Okay, hey, that’s a bit harsh! I’m not that inept!”

“Grrrwoghp!” A grumbling snarl came from Zimthose’s coat.

“See Lance? Even Bigby agrees!”

“I swear, if I’m going to get caught or die here, I do not want it to be because of a damn dust bunny!”

Bwip!

A popup appeared in the bottom right of the monitor. Lance hesitated a moment before clicking on it. It was a new message, following up on a chain of others. He scrolled to the top.

One month ago: “Facility 3, you have been tasked with developing a multi-targeting program capable of dealing with any multitude of targets at once while avoiding as much friendly fire as possible in any potential combat environment. Do not fail me. - W. S.”

One week ago: “To all Facilities: As of this message, all production and development speeds are to be increased fourfold. The foolish dwellers of Haven are to begin ridiculous celebratory festivities in the coming weeks. We will be prepared to strike by then; none may exist outside the plans of King Tinkinzar! - W. S.”

One day ago: “Facility 3: Augmentations for Project R have neared completion. Facility 1 has finished the basic structuring of the Twins’ weapons, and Facility 2 has finalized a means of procuring materials to construct their own munitions without aid. Despite a small setback from the surface dwellers, even Facility 4 has transferred enough materials to the Munitions Factory to finalize a few prototypes before our attack commences.

I shall ask once: where is the multi-targeting program? Why have you not finished? You have one day to show me results. You have been warned. - W. S.”

One minute ago: “It was foolish to trust any of you with such a task. I have already sent a sergeant to oversee the finalization of the program. He shall be there shortly. Be grateful, for he is more merciful than I. - W. S.”

“Oh. Oh crap. Oh crap!” Lance held his head in his hands as he began to panic. He looked out the window, but the construction floor hadn’t changed much since he’d last checked.

It’s only a matter of time. Someone is coming to check on the facility, and they’re sure to scour every inch of this place; that’s just what supervisors do!

“Zim, we gotta hurry and get going, now! The initials and authority in these messages can only mean that they’re from Seerus himself!”

“Spoilers much? Hold on, I’m not done reading.”

“Are you serious right now? I know you’ve probably never picked up a book in your life, but come on, pick up the pace!”

“Oh, I’m quite Seerus, alright. And I’ll have you know I’ve picked up plenty of books! To toss them out or throw them at someone, usually, but I won’t stand for such slander!”

“Then sit your ass down while I finish,” Lance said, closing the messages and beginning to search the data again. Zimthose said nothing, kicking the gray body of the Gremlin still in the middle of the room and looking around, finally taking in the Archives room.

There was a door on the east wall, likely another closet of some kind. In one corner of the room, there was a desk with an empty mug and a deck of cards on it, a defunct mecha-knight in the opposite corner, and various filing cabinets with letters on them covering the whole of the west wall. He strode over to the cabinets, looking for a drawer with the letter “R” on it.

There it was, in between the cabinet drawers for “P” and “S”. He opened the drawer and began pulling out one folder at a time, until–

“Hey Lance?”

“Oh for the love of– what is it now, you–”

Lance stopped short as he saw Zimthose holding up an orange folder with “Top Secret” printed in red on it. The Striker pulled out a few scraps of paper: a mix of schematics, blueprints, and some kind of manual. They all had “Project R” labeled on them.

“...Are you for real?”

“Read ‘em and weep, you–”

Suddenly, they heard a door slam from outside. They looked at each other, eyes wide. Zimthose shut the cabinet drawer, quickly picked up the Gremlin body, and began making his way to the door on the east wall. He opened it to find empty filing boxes, blank papers, and various tools strewn about. He quietly shut the door behind him, dropping the Gremlin body to the floor and slumping against the door, sighing in relief.

Meanwhile, Lance closed all the windows he had opened on the terminal and headed for the desk in the corner. He quickly pulled out one of his Slumber Squalls and unlatched the base, ready to rotate it ninety degrees and clamp it shut to activate it at a moment's notice.

The twin doors to the Archives opened, and two Gremlins entered. One wore thick leather clothes and a bronze breastplate, while the other wore a heavy gray robe, its hood pulled low. They looked to be a Thwacker and a Mender, their hammer and wrench in their respective belts. They glanced around the room before making their way to the terminal. Lance retreated as far as he could under the desk, his back pressed up against the corner of the wall as he tracked the Gremlin by their feet.

“We were cutting it close there,” the Mender said.

“It was last minute, but preparations are complete. The Warmaster will be pleased.”

“Grrr, we can only hope.” The Mender reached the terminal and began typing, but Lance couldn’t make it out from his position. Suddenly, the typing stopped. “Hmm? I don’t recognize this drive.” 

Oh no… Ohhhh no…

“Hmm? What about it?”

“It shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, neither should we. We should have finished hours ago. Now hurry up!”

“You Thwackers are all the same. Lugheads with bolts for brains.”

“Better that than a hypocritical pacifist.”

The Mender shook his head and went back to typing. Lance inched a bit away from the wall, trying to see what was being done on the Terminal. Immediately, the drive he had left plugged in landed at his feet. He stifled a gasp, realizing the Mender had simply tossed the drive away, its port crushed. He watched as the Mender pulled out some papers and slipped them into a compartment on the side of the terminal.

“I’ll compile the finalized data from today’s tests, scan and upload the updated blueprints, and when it’s finally sent, then we can have a long day’s break.”

“Finally,” the Thwacker said, slumping against the side of the terminal as he watched the screen. “The Warmaster has been working us ragged, but it’ll be worth it to see Haven in ashes.”

“For the Nine,” the Mender said, nodding.

“And for the King!”

Bunch of bastards…

Lance contemplated throwing his bomb out right then and there, but he couldn’t be sure he’d be outside of the gas’s spread to avoid being knocked out himself.

The Mender’s typing suddenly stopped.

“Wait, what? When did– No! No, no, no!” he shouted, smashing a fist against the keys.

“What is it? Is it the surface dwellers?”

“Worse. We were too late. The Warmaster already has a sergeant on the way to oversee the finalization of the targeting program.”

“What?! How did you not notice it before?”

“How could I? There was–” 

The Mender stopped short. Lance retreated back against the wall again, quietly as he could. He saw the Gremlin’s feet shuffle, turning about the room.

“Check the secret camera.”

Secret camera?! Come on!

Lance facepalmed softly, shaking his head. Of course there would have been more security; why hadn’t he thought to find it and disable it first? 

“What?” The Thwacker asked. “Why would–”

“Do it!”

“Alright! You don’t have to shout at me,” the Thwacker said. He followed up with a mumble. “Unless you want a thwack to the face, that is.”

The two Gremlins strode over to the mecha-knight in the other corner of the room. The Thwacker leaned it forward and began fumbling with the back of its helmet.

“Grrrwoghp!”

A sound came from the closet. Both Gremlins stood ready, their weapons drawn.

Damnit, Bigsby! 

As the Gremlins turned, focusing on the closet door, Lance quietly began moving closer to them. 

“On the count of three,” the Mender whispered.

“Alright,” the Thwacker said with a nod.

“One…two…”

Without waiting for three, the Thwacker opened the door and brought his hammer down. There was a dull clang as it met a long purple and black blade; Zimthose was waiting. Immediately, he spotted the knight right behind the Gremlins.

“Lance, do some–”

Before he could finish, Lance shoved both the Gremlins into the closet, dropping his armed Slumber Squall and closing the door, pressing up against it.

“Lance!” Zimthose’s muffled shout could be heard as the bomb went off, its gas expelling at a rapid pace. “You son of… a…”

ThumpThumpThump

Lance could tell the sound of three bodies hitting the floor meant his plan had worked. He hurried over to the terminal, ejecting the Gremlin’s drive and stashing it in his pocket. He found the papers the Mender had put in to scan, and checked the terminal. He opened a window to check for recent messages, and read–

Message sent.

“Shit… we were too late…”