Chapter 147: Batnac
Leon stared at the pile of dust a moment longer.
Then he swept it into his palm and dropped it into the bin beside the desk.
"Well," he muttered. "That was a waste of mana."
’You were warned,’ Medusa said.
"I know."
’You’re annoyed.’
"A little." He rolled his shoulders. "But I’m not on the floor."
’So that’s your standard now? Not fainting?’
"It’s progress," Leon said.
And it was.
Last time, the same attempt had knocked him flat on the floor. Now it had only left him irritated. If the gap had closed that much already, it would keep closing.
The talent worked. He knew it worked. He just didn’t know how to make it work yet.
And he wasn’t going to figure it out by sulking over a pile of dust.
So he would keep trying until he got the hang of it. Failing once meant nothing. Quitting was what counted.
’And what will you try next?’ Medusa asked. ’The bed?’
"If I have to."
’The hotel will bill you.’
"Then I’ll pay."
He stood, stretched, and headed for the door.
’Bring me something back,’ Medusa said.
"I’m getting breakfast."
’Something sweet.’
"You can’t eat."
’I can watch.’
*
Three days later.
The Association’s morning report arrived at six o’clock sharp.
It hung in the air above a steel table, a long column of glowing text. Batnac read it with his chin propped on one metal hand.
"Unconfirmed sighting at the eastern ports," he read aloud. "Checked. False."
He flicked the line away with one finger.
"Unconfirmed sighting in a mining town nobody has ever heard of. Checked. False."
Flick.
"Unconfirmed sighting of a man in a long coat, acting suspicious. Checked. Tourist."
Flick.
"Unconfirmed sighting in Ranxdale. Checked. False. Checked again. Still false."
Flick. Flick. Flick.
The entire report scattered into blue sparks.
"Three days," Batnac said. "Forty teams, searching for just one person for the past three days. And what do they have?"
Nobody answered.
"Nothing," he said. "They have nothing."
Batnac was an S-rank player, and nobody who met him ever forgot it.
From the neck down, he wasn’t human. His torso was polished steel. His arms were thick with exposed pistons and cables. Blue light pulsed between the plates of his chest in a slow rhythm, like a heartbeat that had been replaced by a machine.
But the head was human.
That was the worst part. It was a pale, narrow face with thin black hair, a smile that stretched a little too wide, and eyes that blinked a little too rarely.
It looked like a man’s face had been mounted on a machine and kept as a trophy.
The ground floor of his house didn’t look like a house anymore. The walls were bare metal. Cables ran across the ceiling like veins. Dark screens covered the far wall, and along the others, dozens of robots stood in neat rows, silent and still.
One of them rolled to his side, a small, round service unit with a single red lens for an eye.
"Master," it said in a flat voice. "Your tea."
A thin arm unfolded from its body, holding out a cup.
Batnac took it and sipped. He frowned.
"It’s cold."
"The kettle unit was offline during the—"
"I don’t care."
He glanced at the cup. A faint glow flickered at its base, and steam began to rise.
"Better," he said, and drank.
"Do you know what the Association’s problem is?"
"No, master."
"They’re stupid."
"Noted, master."
"Shall I log it, master?"
"Please."
"Logged. Entry four hundred and six: the Association is stupid."
"They have hundreds of players, with every guild in the world reporting to them. And all they do is run around like headless chickens." He waved a hand at the air where the report had been. "Look at them, stressing themselves sick over one man. One! A single man!"
"Teams dispatched: forty-two," the service unit said. "Sightings reported: three hundred and eleven. Confirmed: zero."
"Three hundred and eleven sightings." Batnac laughed. "Every one of them a liar chasing the bounty."
"The Association is offering one million gold for his death, master. Ten thousand coins for his location."
"And all they’ve collected for it is a pile of lies."
"They’re interviewing hotel clerks," he went on. "Hotel clerks! A man walks out of a ruined building and vanishes, and their answer is paperwork."
"Yesterday they held a three-hour meeting to decide who would call the next meeting."
"The minutes are attached, master."
"Burn them."
"Their tracking network is thirty years old," Batnac added. "They aim it at a whole continent and wonder why nothing comes back."
"The last confirmed position was the ruins of the Roaring Lions headquarters, master."
"I know. I read it." His smile twitched. "Do you know what it means when a man vanishes without a trace?"
"No, master."
"It means nobody looked properly."
"Their latest theory," the service unit added, "is that he left the continent inside a cargo container."
"A cargo container." Batnac let his head fall back and laughed at the ceiling. "Of course. That’s exactly what a man who just broke an S-rank guild would do. Climb into a box."
"The file lists him as D-rank at his awakening, master. The Association does not understand how he killed Teon Allistar."
"A D-rank who kills an S-rank." Batnac’s jaw tightened. "Either the file is lying, or the boy is. Either way, he still bleeds like everyone else."
He drained the tea and crushed the cup in one hand. The pieces rained onto the floor, and a robot scurried out to collect them before they stopped bouncing.
A soft chime sounded from the service unit’s body.
"Master. The Association has sent another message. It requests a progress update."
Batnac stared at it. Then he burst out laughing.
"A progress update! Six in the morning, and they’re already pestering me. Three days of failure, and they want results from me by breakfast."
"What shall I reply, master?"
"Tell them it’s in progress." His grin widened. "No, even better, send it to every terminal in their main office. Every screen. Every printer."
"That would cause considerable disruption, master."
"Yes."
"What should it say?"
"Patience. In very large letters."
The service unit’s lens flickered. "Done, master. Four hundred and twelve terminals. Six hundred and three printers."
"Good."
He leaned back in his chair. "If they had given me this case on the first day, it would already be finished."
The service unit said nothing.
"You don’t believe me."
"I do not have beliefs, master. I am a service unit."
Batnac let out a high, thin laugh that echoed off the metal walls.
"Fine. Let me remind you what you serve."
He snapped his fingers.
Every robot in the room woke at once.
Red and blue lenses flared along the walls. Dozens of heads turned in perfect unison. Arms lifted. Wheels spun. Joints clicked into place together, like one enormous machine drawing breath.
"Everything with a circuit answers to me," Batnac said. "Everything with a signal. A battery. A wire. I don’t pick locks. I don’t hack systems. I just tell the machine what I want, and it does it."
He raised his hand. The robots raised theirs. He turned his palm up, and they turned theirs. He clenched his fist, and every robot froze mid-motion, perfectly still.
"Security gates. Transports. Cameras. Doors." He counted them off on metal fingers. "The terminal in your office. The chip inside your wristband. The phone in your pocket. Do you know what a phone is to me?"
"An ear that never closes, master."
"You’ve heard this before."
"Eleven times, master."
Behind him, a loader robot lost its grip on a heavy metal crate. The crate dropped.
Batnac didn’t turn around.
Another robot snapped out an arm and caught the crate an inch above the floor.
"See?" he said. "I don’t even have to look."
"Name a machine," he said.
"Master?"
"Any machine in this city."
"A transport, master."
"Which one?"
"Any."
Batnac closed his eyes for a second. "East line, car twelve. Fourteen passengers. A cage of chickens in the luggage rack. One of them is sick."
"Impressive, master."
"It’s not impressive. It’s accurate."
He started walking slowly down the line of robots. "Think about the world we live in. Every city runs on machines. Every door. Every lift. Every payment terminal, transport gate and street light."
"A world like this was built for someone like me."
"Yes, master."
"Other players have to chase their targets. I just ask the world where they went."
He closed his eyes again.
He could feel them all. Not as sounds, exactly. More like a hum, a quiet chorus of every device within his reach, each one a tiny voice waiting for an instruction.
A man two streets away was paying for shoes with his wristband. A child’s tablet was playing a song about frogs.
He opened his eyes, smiling.
"All of them answer to me."
Then he tilted his head. "Listen."
A voice crackled from the speakers in the walls, tinny and tired.
"—nothing again. Honestly, if Batnac thinks he’s so special, he can—"
Batnac made a soft scoff, and the voice cut off.