"Thank you for the break, Godkiller. I feel much better situated for this next stage in the process."

  "That's wonderful to hear. I hope you don't mind, but I brewed myself some coffee. No caffeine considering the hour," Godkiller said, waving a gloved hand at the tent flap and the conspicuous lack of sunlight leaking around its edges. "Would you like some?"

  After a break, the obscuring properties of his clothes made her slightly nauseous. She also felt the shiver of something cold and dusty briefly tweak the firmament of magic around them.

  It was a subtle thing, like the barely noticeable sensation of an earth-shattering explosion far in the distance.

  The magic, in and of itself, did not make her feel unsafe or insecure. But it had a sense of potency. The same way she could tell the difference between just vanilla extract versus vanilla cake with a single sniff, she could also tell that what she had sensed was a tiny piece of magic leakage, far too small to be impactful, from something much larger and more complex. Something, potent in a profound way.

  If it was part of his negotiation tactics, then he was going to have to try harder.

  She kept her smile perfectly professional and held notes with both hands, not letting on that she had noticed the magic at all. "That's very kind. Would you happen to have regular coffee?"

  "I do! Only instant though."

  "That will do perfectly."

  Shilloh kept her smile in place even as she saw Wade nudge Beige and gesture with his eyebrows in a very clear 'I told you so' from his seat in the back of the room.

  Godkiller then gave her much more detailed information about all the positions he had been hinting at. Shilloh listened attentively, but she very deliberately did not open the leather pad folio holding the legal paper note pad that she had been taking studious notes in all day. She also didn't ask any follow-up questions.

  The masked man seemed confused. He checked in on her more and more often. Confirming that she understood and that she didn't have any more questions.

  Wade grumbled from the back, "I knew it."

  Birch told him to shut his trap.

  Shilloh just kept smiling politely until Godkiller got to the final position. The big one.

  "And finally, the role that I am, quite frankly, most interested in for you would be joining the Godkiller team. With your wild talent," Wade's face went odd, undoubtedly remembering their long conversation about wishing they had wild talents that first day in the woods, "I think you could be of material aid in our battles against large threats. Both offensively and defensively. Your talent, drive, and the positive energy you bring with you would be amazing."

  Shilloh smiled, "Thank you for the rundown, sir. I appreciate it. Would you mind if I asked some follow-up questions?"

  "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

  Shilloh's smile grew a few teeth, and she casually opened her pad folio and flipped to a page full of scrawled notes.

  "Well," The dryad said, crossing her legs and tapping a pen against her chin as she looked over her notes. "I had the incredible fortune to eat with Ms. Genandoah during our most recent break. She was so enthused about me joining the Blightbanes that she shared a few statistics with me."

  Frost went still, Wade put his head in his hands, and Beige cocked an eyebrow.

  "The injury and casualty rates for people at that level of priority seem adequate. Though I am interested in whether you've compared that to archival data for federal officers and police as a benchmark. But, we can get to that latter. First, I'd like to be very frank with you."

  On autopilot, he responded, "Hi Frank, I'm Godkiller."

  "Very funny," Shilloh said, not pausing or sounding like she thought it was funny. "See, I want to pick the Godkiller program, but—again speaking very honestly—I think I need some more reasons why it would be better than the other options you've presented."

  "Well, your file said you don't like direct conflict. But based on what your traveling companions have told me—"

  "Excuse me," Shiloh interrupted. "But did they also tell you about my goal regarding dryad settlements?"

  "Yes. Scotty did mention your future ambitions. I'm a fan if we're being honest, and Wade was very impressed with what you were able to teach him about buffer species."

  "Wonderful. Then you must be aware that my plans are very long-term. And I have a huge amount of underrepresented people whose lives, livelihoods, and safety are riding on my back. I hate to push," she said, ignoring Birch's snort from behind her, "but, for their sakes, I think I have to. Can you please tell me about your goals and how you think those will help me meet mine?"

  "Well, I think the first and most clear point is that it is hard to have a village in a wasteland," Godkiller said, his warm thread of charisma and playfulness recovered after his shock.

  Shilloh tapped her pen on the pad folio, "Hmmm. You might be surprised. Ms. Genandoah?"

  Birch stepped up and handed Shiloh a sheaf of papers before stepping behind her. The two women formed a sort of totem pole. Shilloh's frigid professional grin contrasting the mad Cheshire leer above her.

  "I have some projections here. They look at what I could earn at each of our candidate positions once you account for the cost of living, likely hospital bills, rehab costs, relocation, and compounding interest in a standard, low-risk account." She handed the paper over before taking out another and filling his other hand. "Then, if you look here, you can see some property cost estimations and timelines for getting those properties."

  "Yes, I see," the warmth was struggling. Suppressed by her tide of data.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "I think a great first step in us figuring out how to both benefit from this situation is for you to forget all of that."

  "Forget it? All of those charts? I haven't even gotten a chance to look at them."

  "Exactly. Those are the assumptions you're using, and they're based on what other people can do. You see, because of my abilities, I can walk into an otherwise inaccessible area of wilderness and start building a compound full of cabins at any time. I will find the natural resources. The cryptos will be avoided or befriended, and I will not slow down due to old age. If we assume I have 100 years to earn a modest income, invest, and possibly set up some for-profit crypto-flora agriculture on the side, I could absolutely set up a place that would serve my needs. The question we should be talking about is comfort and security. How comfortable can you make building that town for me, and how secure am I in the knowledge that I will avoid violent death long enough to welcome my fellow dryads back?"

  Godkiller leaned forward. He had regained his footing after her move with the data. Hopefully, he had found the very obvious flaw in her logic so he could address it early on. It would be annoying if he kept it in his back pocket as a way to make them start from scratch after getting cornered.

  "Very interesting points," the black clad figure said, "I have heard you mention compounding interest. Wouldn't it be in your interest to ensure the stability of the banks that would be compounding that interest, or even to secure the currency system that anchors the markets you would be relying on?"

  Well, it wasn't the counterstrike she had wanted. At some point, he would need to call out the unpredictability of The Vault. Dryads could be free by the morning. A hundred years of prep work was far from guaranteed. Still, this point was on the list she had prepared for.

  "True," Shilloh held up a hand without looking, and Birch dropped another paper into it. "That's why I feel obliged to bring a few other factors to your attention.” Shilloh slid a small sheaf of papers over, and her grin sharpened to the point where it should have drawn blood. "I've known from the start that my life span may be greater than that of the current government. As such, my assets are already highly diversified. Both international funds, as well as valuable physical assets that would make me more than capable of buying myself a cozy position in any newly established government seeking funds during their consolidation period."

  Shilloh leaned back, took a sip of the coffee, and tapped her pen against her pad folio. "So, once again, can you help me understand why the sacrifices and risks of the Godkiller program would be the very best thing for the future of dryad kind?"

  Godkiller gulped, and Shilloh fluttered her eyelashes prettily.

  ~~~

  Several hours later, Beige had fallen asleep in his chair; Birch had folded spare paper into little triangles and was trying to flick through a goal made of Wade's fingers; and Godkiller, who she thought she might need to rename Flinchkiller, was sitting across from her at his desk.

  "Alright, all of this seems in order. And you're sure you can promise all of these amendments?"

  Shilloh drummed her fingers on the camp desk, and Thresher twitched when they came too close to the calculator she had been using.

  "Final approval comes from someone higher up the administrative chain from me, but I should be able to greenlight it if I offer to cut budget from somewhere else."

  Birch looked up at him, and his hand twitched like he was worried about getting hit in the face. "What, Ms. Genandoah? Do you have any other documents and precedents I wasn't aware of?"

  The small woman gave him a predatory smile, "Oh, I absolutely do, ole Gibbles Kibbles, but just not for tonight." She turned her head to Shilloh and gave a decisive nod. "I think this is a good starting place ("Starting place!" Godkiller squeeked). Especially since you got the contract renegotiation period pushed up."

  Before Shilloh could respond, Wade collapsed backwards, "Oh, thank fuck. Does that mean we're done?"

  The sound woke up Beige; he started stretching in a very distracting way, but Shilloh turned back to Godkiller and extended her hand. "I think we just might be. Shake on it tonight, and I'll sign the papers once you've had time to verify and get them retyped tomorrow?"

  Godkiller looked down at the boiler plate contract that was so covered in pen lines and amendments that it looked more like someone had spilled red ink rather than writing on it.

  "I think you had better expect two days for all of that."

  "Nonsense," Shilloh said. "We did a very good speed-run. Sure, I would have preferred to walk away, have time to think, and maybe come back in after a day or two of research, but—"

  Before she could say anything else, a black gloved hand had grasped her own in a firm but not overbearing handshake.

  "No need for any of that! Welcome to the team."

  "Thank you, it's an honor."

  "It was a horror indeed."

  "Excuse me?"

  The black clad man got to his feet. Everyone but Beige joined him in producing the chorus of groans, popping joints, and creaking limbs.

  "Nothing," Godkiller said." Just an old man mumbling. Now, while your probationary period will last until after at least this first incursion, I wanted to introduce you to your team. You can back out at any time until the probation is over, but these will be the people that I hope will make you want to keep working with the godkillers.

  Before she could react to what sounded a lot like a plural on the end of his title, Godkiller's hands flashed around the layers, locks, and hidden straps keeping his mask on.

  Before she knew it, the obscuring enchantments faded, the mask was off, and she was looking at the face of someone who looked like a well-aged James Dean. His hair was perfectly white. Not the white of age, which always had occasional strands of gray. His mussed-up hair was a perfect snowy absence of color. His grin was lopsided and immediately made her feel like she was sharing an inside joke with an old college friend. He was probably close to Agnes’ age, but the sheer level of boyish charisma the man exuded made it hard for her to think of him as 'old'.

  "My name is Nikko Lorenzini. Though some call me General Frost," he said, running a hand through his pallid hair with a grin. "When I'm in the mask, you can call me Godkiller Thresher."

  As the secret of his name was revealed, Shilloh felt a surge of panic. Still, it faded almost immediately as a surreal numbness pervaded her thoughts. The disassociation let her think calmly about how, even though she had known for hours that she'd be learning the identity of Godkiller (THE mother fucking Godkiller), that she still hadn't had enough time to emotionally prepare. How many hours did you need? She wasn't sure a day would be enough. This was more than a celebrity. It was a totem that held back the darkness of a world gone mad. This was the person that little kids pretended to be during recess. When you talked about the future, you added his name with a laugh, because nothing was certain when a being this powerful might suddenly decide to save a state, or level a mountain.

  With a grand wave of his hand, Godkiller—who was not as tall as she expected—motioned to Beige. "Behind me is the rest of our cohort of misadventure. That is Kevin 'Don't Call me Reaver' Adesina. Also known as Godkiller Beige."

  The disassociation briefly paused. Shilloh's mouth opened.

  There were conspiracy theories—there were always conspiracy theories—but the idea that there could be two people strong enough to act as Godkiller shocked her nearly to the point of nausea.

  "I think you've already met Wade." Thresher continued with a wink, "But going forward, you'll be coming to know him as Godkiller Stern when the mask is on."

  With an awkward smile and half wave, her maybe-soon-to-be-possible-boyfriend greeted her. "Uh, hi, Shilloh… I guess. Hope this makes things make a bit more sense."

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