Silhouette

Knowing some kind of emergency was happening back at the Shadow Den tempted James to just rush off and head down to the depths. However, he knew better. This could be a trap, a diversion to lure him away from the Penumbral Palace. Thankfully, he knew exactly how he could check on what was happening back in the Sunken City.

"That will be all for today from me. I'll let Mister Black and Doctor Decanov decide if they wish to continue any further."

The black podium he had been using burst into black tendrils that brought the borrowed mics back to their respective owners. At the same time, James let himself fall and disappeared into the cold black ground on the inner court, vanishing from view under the shocked eyes and gasping mouths of the crowd. The Penumbral Palace was heavily infused, as were all of James' holdings, but this one took a step further by having his transformative mark run much deeper than the rest. That is to say, there probably was more shadowy material underground than on the property proper, and that was quite the feat.

Safely hidden in the core of this bunker accessible only to ephemeral beings, James focused on his connection to the calling body double and answered.

As with all things relating to the mind, their discussion didn't involve words, but rather memories, sensations, concepts, deductions, and pure knowledge.

James asked the body double why it called.

They were being attacked, as James expected. Although the Infused didn't feel much by default, they were still capable of expressing the urgency and danger of a situation. The cool of his fleshy clone showed that the situation was under control.

James asked if they needed his help.

No, it was unnecessary. The forces stationed at the former orphanage could handle it. They had simply agreed on the fact that the clone would be the best way to inform him rather than their usual phone calls, their link permitting more to be shared. Again, James could sense from the body double's recollection of that particular conversation that the Shadow Commando and the nuns weren't panicking or afraid.

Who was attacking?

This time what was shared was much more tangible. Visions of creatures and monsters of all kinds. Mutated beasts with no logic to their composition. Aberations. Their number of limbs varied, many sporting an odd amount, some covered in skin and others in scales or fur or feathers. Some were silent as they stumbled on and others were screeching madly as they ran only to be put down by a bullet in the forehead. All in all, it was a chaotic menagerie with no consistent pattern aside from their randomness and strangeness.

That last bit was what aroused suspicion to James. While he had done his fair bit of cleaning up the abandoned city around his territory by purging dangerous beasts and had his people patrol the area, he could understand some creatures surviving somehow and attacking his home for one reason or another. Even their bizarre appearances somewhat fit in with the Sunken City, the area being home to some questionable substances and radiations in some parts that could cause quite the disfigurement. But for all of these seemingly random creatures to all work together - or at least not eat one another in the process - to attack his base? No, that wasn't chance or some bout of madness brought by starvation. Those things were being led there.

With such a mismatch of creatures, he could see two reasonable suspects. Either this was the work of the Biflora, in retaliation for James taking out his little spies, or this was the Patcher finally deciding to act, bored of waiting for James to take the bait and go and meet him.

James asked his clone about the monsters' reactions to shadows. In response, he got to see some sort of giant scorpion with a tree instead of a stinger crackle and spasms as it received the onslaught of multiple fully powered electroguns, its dark chitinous exoskeleton losing its natural luster as the bark of its attached plant blackened as though rotting, starting from the roots embedded in its thorax and spreading to the rest of the tree until even its very leaves lost all color, all the while shadows turned into electricity continued to rampage through its form, a strange whistling echoing from its crazed head as other beasts began to climb over it to get at the armed men firing on them from the safety of the building.

Well, that seemed to clear the Patcher. James hadn't forgotten the mutilating maniac's latest creation at the time had been completely immune to his darkness. Well, now that he thought about it, there was a very good chance this was the work of Runar with, well, runes. He had seen some of those when the monster's bones had been exposed during that encounter, that particular abomination's teeth being made from two human ribcages still attached to their spines acting as jaws. He couldn't dismiss it the mad surgeon or whatever it was he called himself's ability to counter James' shadow powers, but since right after meeting that Glapissant thing he ran into the orc knight Karadok who just so happened to prepare a ritual specifically to catch James, that particular problem would likely better be attributed to the Runemaster.

But, as much as he realized the lack of shadow resistance on these things didn't clear the Patcher, something else did. That tree in the scorpion. To his knowledge, the Patcher only worked with flesh and associated materials like bones and organic tissues, not plants. There might have been some exceptions in his collection, but not to the point it would fit in with what he could see from what his clone shared, with almost a quarter of all critters attacking having some sort of floral or fungal element to them.

At the same time, it was entirely possible this was the point. Maybe whoever was behind this purposefully chose this selection of creatures to fool James into thinking this was the work of the Biflora. Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, this might be the Hivines sending such a small number of plant creatures to make it seem as though another group was impersonating them. They were a known cult yet they managed to play with the law enough for the group to stay free and its leader without a Villain label, knowing how to achieve the right balance to hide their involvement must have been second nature to them.

Sometimes, James really hated being the one in charge. He hated being the one who had to decipher their enemy's intent and figure out who the foe was in the first place. This whole mess of politicking and strategizing... He was a pizza delivery boy in his past life, not some mafioso!

Still, he asked his body double one last time whether it would be fine without him. It seemed certain of their flawless victory so far, but there was always the chance some big bad horde leader would pop up later.

It assured him he wasn't needed. Should anything more troublesome than what had arrived so far appear, they would pull out the experimental stuff Techlord was working on.

Suddenly, James felt a tinge of pity for whatever would be unlucky enough to be the teen's latest test subject. The young inventor had no sadistic bone in his body, but as someone who learned by messing with scraps and who aimed for the greatest results possible, what happened to the sewer critters he fought to get used to his new suit was best left unsaid. On the plus side, they got some roasted meat to feed the troops out of that experience. Some parts were charred and others slimy but hey, folks from these parts were used to worse.

James told his clone to call him back either if there was another emergency or when they were done.

Now, with that dealt with, he could go back to the surface of the Penumbral Palace. But, why would he? The conference was over as far as he was concerned. If anything, if the attack was an attempt to bait him away, it would be best to stay hidden here, just in case that monster ringleader tried something. After all, a good serving of humiliation and possibly even an execution would be perfect now that journalists were still around.

No, he was better off waiting for now. His people in the Sunken City might still need him after all.

When Sam chose to become Techlord, it wasn't out of a childish desire to be a Hero. Well, part of it was he had to admit, but he put a lot more thought behind it than most brats who spouted the classic Union nonsense. Unlike them, he had lived in those dangerous streets all his life. He knew how things worked. Fighting off scavengers and opportunistic predators every other day while growing up taught him more than any fancy school would have.

So, when a horde of horribly disfigured monsters decided that attacking his home and workshop beneath the earth was a good idea, he had a ton of countermeasures at the ready. He had just finished fully relocating his equipment to the refurbished orphanage, finally truly leaving his little hole in Silhouette's original sewers base so that he and Tech Junior would be around folks. Moreso the latter, Sam would have perfectly fine staying isolated, but Junior was still young and in their formative years. According to Mesker at least. Hard to judge the mental capacity of an abominable fusion of flesh and moss and bones and metal and plastic.

Sam spared a glance at his unexpected child, ignoring the shrill screams that the skinny lizards covered in mushrooms he was dousing with his flamethrower let out as it tried to crawl its way forward. His adoptive monster, now fully covered by a bulkier and more heavily plated version of his Techsuit, was currently stomping down on creepy crawlies trying to skitter through the heavier defenders to get at the softer ones. They weren't successful on account of the fighter joyfully breaking them under their boots. At this point, the original black of Junior's suit was no longer visible beneath all the dark green and red juices of their victims. Sam had to admit, that was a good look.

"Junior! Use your gadgets!"

The faceless helmet of his partial creation turned to him and nodded before they grabbed the electrorifle strapped to their back.

They then went on to smack the critters with it rather than shoot anything.

Sam almost scolded them, but the thumbs-up Junior sent them after smashing a dozen of the monsters was too much to bear. He sighed. He'd have to give Junior some proper combat training when they were done. For now, good equipment and freakish strength from their unorthodox birth carried them through the chaos.

The lizard tried a final leap at Sam's face, the big cat-sized reptile putting a lot more energy than it should have been able to given the agony it was in moments before. It was promptly denied by a volley of bullets to the skull, the knockback of the powerful automatic weapon killing its momentum and saving Sam from a faceful of aberration. Well, saved might not have been the right word, considering he knew this would happen.

The Shadow Commando were idiots. Morons. Cretins of the highest order. In some unnatural display, the more of them you put in the same room the dumber they got as a whole. Almost every day Sam wished to strangle one of them at least once. And yet, for all their flaws and goofiness, they were ruthless.

He'd learned his lesson back during the raid on Runar's base. Well, he got a hint of what they could do, having taken down a Runarian Knight and somehow going an entire operation without any loss. Even with their improved equipment, he expected at least one or two to die. But when he and Silhouette interrogated the survivors of the attack, they discovered the remaining thugs were terrified. It was hard to believe then, but seeing them in action now, he struggled to accept that those were the same donut-obsessed idiots he had to deal with daily.

Only half of them were in armor right now, the rest being on a break day and not fast enough to dress up when the creatures attacked, but they were killers all the same. While he and Junior were the highlights of the melee defense, only two people weren't a force, they were assets. The armored group used their guns more than their fists unless something got too close, but if anything they were better at mowing down the rampaging wave of mad flesh. Those in their basic suits - somehow the group as a whole agreeing on a shared aesthetic for their downtime clothes - were even deadlier, raining bullets from the windows of the orphanage. This wasn't a fight, this was pest control.

Nothing had managed to get into the building so far, at worst they got to climb the walls for a few seconds before they were torn apart by their fake Silhouette. The blobby thing wasn't as impressive as the real deal if you let him the man, but its powers were more than enough to deal with rabid animals no matter how weird. And if guns and shadows and flames and corruptive electricity weren't enough to deal with something, like the massive worm squishing his way forth to the gate, well...

Old decrepit roots emerged from the ground, the seemingly dead wood wrapping up around the juicy tube of meat and constricting until it popped, the rain of its insides showering the surrounding creatures as their life was drained by horrific twisted apparitions of shadows of nuns from beyond the grave. They weren't all out and about, a small group remained inside to watch over the kids both dead and alive, and keep them from seeing the carnage, but Mother Greenheld and those who were fighting were more than enough to take care of the attackers.

Sam did feel some pride at the fact that his creations were taking down more monsters than the spiritual side of the defenders. He wouldn't boast about it to the undead, they didn't care a single bit about that sort of stuff, but he'd definitely mention it in the full report to Silhouette. Both to show off and also to show they needed to improve their defenses on that front. The nuns weren't interested in fighting if it wasn't to defend the orphans, but maybe the boss would find a way to convince them to train somehow. Greenheld herself was slaughtering beasts by the dozen with her roots, but the rest weren't anywhere near as fast.

Sam extended the blade on his forearm and upper punched it straight through the jaw and into the skull of some giant ferret centipede with a mane of whipping vines, the plants falling limb as soon as the animal's brain was stabbed then fried by the electric current of the contraption.

Things were pretty smooth-sailing so far, but hanging around Silhouette for so long taught him to expect something worse. Say what you want about the dramatic shadow man, he knew how to use his paranoia to survive.