I am not a claustrophobic person, but I'm beginning to understand what the fear is all about. There's something off about squatting here, knowing the original inhabitants are likely dead. I feel like I shouldn't be here. Walking across the racetrack rug, avoiding all the toy cars on it as I move through a child's room. The light blue walls, dragster bed, and Formula One racing posters make it clear that whoever the kid was, they loved racing. The wall opposite the bed has black crayon height markers on it, each with a different year next to it. Swallowing saliva, I feel like a trespasser whenever I have to come in here to grab something. I'm no saint, but wiping out an entire town is several steps too far. I pick up my communicator and quickly leave. My bare feet don't make any noise even as I sprint out of the child's bedroom.

The rest of the house is going for a rustic look, but it's just basic modern houseflipping techniques. The fireplace isn't a real one; it's a space heater with a touch screen that displays images of a real fireplace. The wooden walls are actually stained shiplap pieces glue to whatever wall was here originally, and the honeyed brown oak floors aren't hardwood, they're vinyl planks. The visible nails are just nailheads glued on. The bronze lantern lights that hang from the ceiling are LEDs. Not that it matters when we don't have any electricity in here. We've been eating nonperishables for the last few days. If I have to eat another can of mini raviolis, I'm going to throw up. The beans aren't much better, and they make the others gassy. I shudder thinking about that awful night that had me contemplating cutting my nose off. We have to end this soon. First, it was the raging blizzard that kept us from leaving this small two-bedroom house. Now, it's the horde of shadow creatures that has surrounded us.

"They're still out there," Forty-four mentioned for the hundredth time.

The young-looking Cape is starting to get on my nerves. It doesn't help that his cheap cologne is aggressively offensive to my enhanced senses. Stuck in a confined space, being forced to smell him everywhere is giving me a headache. His constant need to update me on the goings-on outside is not endearing him to me. Especially when he knows I would hear, smell, or see anyone trying to sneak up on us before him. His already unhealthy complexion has turned sickly pale. His face glistens, sweat forming on his brow and trickling downward. He's sick and too stubborn to just rest. His Napoleon complex prevents him from admitting any weakness in front of us. Men are so obsessed with who has the biggest dick, and he can't turn that mindset off, even when it's only him with two women.

His binary thinking is a cage that prevents him from reaching his true potential. My lips curl into a smirk, thinking of how angry he must've been when he found out who he'd be listening to. He hates that Technologica picked me to lead the team. Me, an evil female Cowl, being in charge of such an upstanding figure as himself, must eat at him. He paces across the vinyl floors, doing laps around the oval dinner table covered in drink rings and stains that seeped into the cracks. The heels of his shoes make a slight squeak that I'm sure only I can hear. The nervous energy radiating off of him is compounded by whatever sickness he has. There's a damp spot on his left suit sleeve from constantly wiping his nose on it. Ugh. Disgusting. I do not look forward to having to work with him ever again.

Eleven is resting in the other bedroom; that woman is a saint compared to him. She smells faintly of cinnamon and allspice, like fresh-baked cookies. We've worked together on tens of missions for Technologica. The first time we met, she shattered my expectations and idea of her. Calm as a lake even when being shot at, Eleven is a tranquil presence that naturally puts others at ease, not due to any superpower, but her natural warmth. She's like a charismatic grandmother who would beat your ass if you stepped out of line. If she weren't as old as she is, she'd be a real force to reckon with. Her mindset, combined with her wealth of knowledge on a variety of different subjects like herbalogy, tracking, and first aid, makes her the ideal partner for any mission. That's without even factoring in her diverse summons, which I don't think I've seen even half of them. She's dangerous, and as far as I know, is just a private citizen. The two of them are complete opposites in damn near every way that matters.

The only one missing from our group is the kid—the one thrust upon us by Technologica. I'm not one to doubt our Fair Lady of the Skies, but that kid was dead weight. She gave strict instructions not to give him a weapon, keeping him out of fights, and not to lose sight of him for any reason. Which Forty-four promptly fucked up on all but the weapon thing. I don't know what his role was meant to be, but the kid's dead. The debrief she gave didn't include what his power was, but that it was useless in a fight. Sending a rookie out with us was a mistake, one she wouldn't make. So there must be something I missed, some angle I couldn't see.

"Nine," Forty-four started to say.

"Not again. I know about the horde of shadow monsters outside, and I don't need your constant fucking updates," I yelled.

"They're doing something new," he responded stiffly.

That ticked him off.

"What?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Oh. Oh. Outside, the shadow horde has split open, and there is a single one standing in the open, waving a white flag. The pillowcase is nearly invisible with all the white powder everywhere. Even though I can see it with my own two eyes, I'm struggling to understand what I am witnessing. Are the monsters trying to parley with us? I've officially seen everything.

"ELEVEN! Get out here," I called back into the room she's resting in.

She comes out quickly, eyes wide and alert; she's prepared for a fight. Her face softens when she sees we aren't in any danger. Her droopy eyelids lowered back to their usual position.

"We've got a meeting to dictate terms with the monsters. I want to come prepared, so bring out some bigger guns. I got a feeling that this mission will be wrapping up very soon. Both of you are to remain silent while we're conversing with them. I will not repeat myself. Understood?" I asked.

Forty-four nods, and Eleven is already on her knees, muttering her prayer. I don't know why she's summoning her creatures here, but she must have a plan. I trust you, Eleven. Forty-four looks thrilled at getting out of the house. Every emotion he feels is so painfully obvious on his face. He checks his suit, redoing the Windsor knot of his tie, checking his shoes for scuffs, and dusting his suit jacket off. He's giddy to fight or more likely to be out of this town. I don't blame him one bit for that feeling. Hanging around here is asking to be cursed. No good has ever come from staying in a place where countless people died.

Eleven's summoning finishes as a feminine white stone hand pierces through the floors. Her? Damn. The hole widens as the summon floats out of the hole. The creature's form is clearly meant to invoke thoughts of a woman. The head is soft, thinner, and has curved lines coming off her head as a facsimile of eyebrows. The defined lips on her face lean even more heavily toward female. An hourglass figure underneath an armored long-sleeve dress with spikes around the waist and wrists. Celtic crosses cover the summon's dress. The feet are molded into heeled boots you'd wear into battle like a statue modeled after Joan of Arc. The final two pieces are a white crown floating above her head; its spikes branch outward, splitting off from the rest of the crown that meets in the middle, rising into a sphere. The second piece is a scepter spinning in the air next to her. The scepter gets thinner toward the bottom, ending in a sharp blade, while the top of it is a battle mace. Carvings cover the weapon, mimicking socketed jewels. Her feet haven't touched the ground, and they won't. This is Eleven's strongest summon; her Queen.

Forty-four, Eleven, and her Queen follow me out the front of the house to meet the suddenly docile monsters. The snow is still falling, but it's not hammering down currently. We walk across the front yard, the snow crunching beneath our boots as it gets packed down. The one waving the flag hasn't stopped, but it is a different creature that emerges from the crowd. Stepping out in front of us, it's a big one. It has dark gray skin like all of them do, but this one is the most normal-looking. Not that any of them are fucking normal. Its legs are bent the wrong way, ending in webbed feet that have random amounts of claws. The chest is split down the middle into one black eye. The arms look more like tumors that have sprouted tumors, and there are no hands. Clearly human fingers cover the arms in patches that move at random times. The head is a mass of horns twisted over each other into a single sharp point, but there is a small portion of the face that is free of horns, and that's where the mouth is. The adult mouth is filled with rows of baby teeth, and I'm cursing my enhanced eyes for the sight.

"I am Nine and I can speak for my group," I announced.

"I know who you are, Nine. You have Eleven and Forty-four with you. I've been aware of you all since you first arrived in town. I also know you were sent here on behalf of someone else," it spoke.

"What? These things can talk?" Forty-four shouted.

"Yes, they can. The other member of your group has been a wealth of information. It's amazing what people will tell you when properly motivated with violence. If you don't want his death on your conscience that I'd advise you to follow my instructions," it said.

Fuck. The kid isn't dead, and he's been kidnapped and tortured. Forty-four, you are such a pain in my fucking ass. The creature didn't directly name Technologica, so there's a chance the kid knew well enough to keep that secret. I'm tempted just to throw in the towel and call in an orbital bombardment. But there's no way the two of them would let me refuse this. Forty-four can't turn down an opportunity to be a hero. I still have no idea why Technologica wanted him here, but I certainly won't find out if I let him die. I don't have a choice; I'm going to have to go along with whatever this thing says.

"What are your demands?" I asked, sighing in defeat.

"You are to willingly surrender yourself to my creatures, who will bring you to me. Once there, I will reunite you with your buddy, and we can discuss what I want from you all. Don't worry, it isn't anything too terrible, and once it's done, all of you will be free to go unharmed."

I am well and truly screwed. We might be able to fight our way out of this, but they wouldn't leave without him. I can't return to Technologica without the rest of my team and not finish the mission. There's this feeling in my gut that says this is going to go sideways; that I'm not seeing the full picture. But I put my feelings to the side and focus on just the present moment.

"Eleven, dismiss the summon. Forty-four, drop the bubble. We'll go with you peacefully," I said, holding up my hands in surrender. Eleven and Forty-four comply as well. A few monsters move toward us, picking us up like bags of rice to carry us wherever we're meant to go. Shadow monsters with bladed limbs are watching over the ones carrying us, ready to attack if we show any signs of resisting.

"I knew you'd see the value in my offer, Nine. I look forward to meeting you all in person soon," it said.

This isn't going to end well.

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