I sat in the back while Bells drove. Grace sat in the passenger seat, clutching a briefcase that contained the entirety of Eden's remaining paperwork.
We were driving down the Lodge Freeway, heading south from Southfield to Detroit.
Or rather, what was left of it.
"Look at this," Bells said, steering around a crater in the road that was filled with water.
The landscape was a graveyard. The six month war between Eden and White Hill had turned the corridor between our territories into a wasteland. Buildings were husks, their windows blown out, their facades scorched by fire. Overturned APCs rusted in the median. and the trees were splinters.
It was a ugly reminder of what happens when two superpowers decide to measure their egos against each other.
Or maybe just one.
"We did this," Grace whispered, looking out the window at a collapsed overpass.
"We helped," I corrected. "Axehill brought the toys. We just refused to get out of the sandbox."
I looked away, feeling a migraine building behind my eyes. I opened my status menu to check my Qi levels, but my finger slipped on the touch screen.
[System Update Complete]
I blinked. I hadn't realized an update was pending.
[New Skill Unlocked: Seed Identification]
Analyze mundane seeds to reveal hidden magical potential. Unlocks recipes in the Seed Catalogue.
[New Skill Unlocked: Root Sense]
A seismic/qi sense. The user can feel qi, water, structures, and energy signatures through the earth. Range increases with cultivation level.
[New Recipes Added to Catalogue]
- Razorgrass: Looks like lawn grass; becomes monomolecular knives on command. Can grapple and shred.
- Sky Piercer Bamboo: Surface-to-air missile battery. Launches hardened bamboo tips at high velocity.
- Grounding Vine: Absorbs/drains electricity (anti-tech).
I stared at the text.
Something was missing.
Usually, the recipes were "Heavenly." Heavenly Bamboo. Heavenly Tomato. Heavenly Potato.
These were just... Razorgrass. Sky Piercer. Grounding Vine.
"The Heavens dropped the branding," I said.
"What?" Bells asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"I unlocked new plants," I said. "But they don't have the 'Heavenly' name anymore. I guess after I defied the Heavens in my tribulation, we aren't on a first name basis anymore."
"Shame," Bells said. "I liked the branding. Made the vegetables taste holier."
We took the exit for downtown.
The streets were gridlocked with people.
Thousands of them.
They swarmed the car as soon as we slowed down. They were banging on the windows, screaming, holding signs.
NO PEACE FOR TRAITORS.
COWARDS HIDE, HEROES DIE.
DOWN WITH EDEN.
Flashes from cameras blinded us. Reporters were shoving microphones against the glass. Someone threw a tomato—an ironic red insult—that splattered against my window.
"They hate us," Grace said, shrinking into her seat.
"They're emotional," I said. "They suffered for six months while we sat in a bunker eating corn."
"Should I drive through them?" Bells asked, hand hovering over the horn.
"No," I said. "Stop the car."
Bells hit the brakes.
I opened the door. The noise of the crowd—the rain, the screaming, the chanting—rushed in.
"COWARD!" A man in a torn coat screamed, lunging at me before being held back by security guards.
I stood in the rain, letting it soak my suit. I looked at the man and the crowd.
"We are all those things!" I shouted. "And we are proud!"
The crowd faltered.
"We survived!" I yelled. "And today, we end the war!"
I turned and walked toward the doors of City Hall, Bells and Grace beside me. We didn't look back.
We shook off the rain and walked into the main council chamber.
It was a cavernous room with a high domed ceiling and in the center sat a circular table.
Two of the seats were already taken.
Mister O sat at the far end. He looked immaculate. He wore a light blue trench coat, a cashmere scarf, and leather gloves with a hat. He didn't have a drop of rain on him and he looked like he was worth a trillion stones… probably because he was.
To his left sat a woman I recognized from the auction. Misty. She was slumped in her chair, wearing an oversized orange hoodie, track pants, and dark sunglasses that covered half her face. She was spinning a pen between her fingers.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
"Where is Axehill?" I asked, looking at the empty seat with the White Hill sigil.
"Behind you!" Bells screamed.
I dropped.
A massive black boot just barely missed my head..
The force of the kick hit the marble pillar next to me. The stone shattered and dust rained down on the carpet.
I scrambled back, standing up.
Axehill stood there. He was massive, his face red with rage, veins bulging in his neck. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched.
"YOU FUCKING COWARD!" Axehill roared, his voice shaking the room. "HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE AFTER HIDING FOR SIX MONTHS!"
He took a step toward me.
"HOW DARE YOU CALL YOURSELF A MAN! HOW DARE YOU HAVE THE WILL TO CONTINUE TO LIVE?! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!"
The guards by the door reached for their weapons, but didn't intervene. This was a dispute between Warlords.
I walked up to him.
I placed my hand gently on his massive, trembling bicep.
"No," I said softly. "I do not, Axehill."
Axehill froze.
"I have no shame," I continued. "I am middle management, not a warlord."
I looked him in the eye.
"I stood no chance against you," I said. "And I likely stand no chance against any other faction leader at this table. I am a mediocre gardener who got lucky with a broken Path and started larping as Gilgamesh."
The room was dead silent. Mister O was watching intently and Misty had stopped spinning her pen.
"But do you want to know the truth, Axehill?" I asked. "I am no Gilgamesh. I am Kaz Kaaz of Grey Form Marketing. I spent most of my adult life working with spreadsheets for a mid tier marketing company. My war against you made me remember that. So, thank you."
Axehill’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
"As for being a coward," I said, stepping back. "Yes. Yes, I am a coward. A damn proud one at that. I call myself a man and have the will to continue to live because I am one. If I wasn't a coward, I would not be here today. I would be decomposed in the belly of your general’s dragon."
I brushed a speck of dust off his tactical vest.
"With that out of the way, let's please keep it civil and cordial and get to the meeting. That is after all, the reason why I am finally showing my cowardly face after six months. Thanks."
I walked past him and sat down in the Eden chair.
Axehill stood there for a long moment, looking completely flabbergasted.
He sat down heavily in his chair without saying another word.
Thirty minutes later, the double doors opened.
Mayor Holson and Governor Killstone walked in. Holson walked with a stride. Killstone trailed behind her like a lost puppy.
"Apologies for the delay," Holson said, taking the head of the table.
"This meeting will serve a dual purpose. One, as a Peace Treaty and two, A Factional Summit," Holson continued.
"So the government gets to claim the credit of ending the war between two major powers," Mister O drawled. "And creating the roadmap which we will all follow for the foreseeable future. Very strategic, Ms. Mayor."
Holson smiled thin. "Why thank you, Mister O. I try to be."
She opened a folder.
"Now. On to the peace deal."
She slid papers across the table to me and Axehill.
"The terms are as follows," Holson recited. "The conflict between White Hill and Eden ends in a stalemate."
"Stalemate?" Axehill grunted. "I occupied his territory for six months."
"And then you went bankrupt and retreated," Holson reminded him sharply. "Stalemate."
She continued. "White Hill will cede jurisdiction of Southfield to Eden. Eden will relinquish all claims to Midtown (Sector 2). Furthermore, Eden will provide White Hill with an unlimited supply of Heavenly Tomatoes for a period of six months as reparations for the initial aggression."
I looked at the paper.
I was losing Midtown—the buffer zone. I was losing my product for free. And in exchange, I got Southfield—a suburb I already lived in.
Since White Hill never directly governed Southfield it is no strategic loss to them. They simply lose a jurisdiction they ignored.
It was a bad deal. It felt like a loss.
"However," Holson said, a gleam in her eye. "Since White Hill is currently insolvent, they cannot afford the upkeep or the rent taxes for Midtown."
She slammed a stamp onto a document.
"Therefore, the Government of Detroit hereby seizes Midtown (Sector 2) under the Emergency Asset Forfeiture Act."
I looked at Holson.
This bitch played us. She let us bleed each other dry, waited for Axehill to go broke, and then swept in to legally steal some of the most valuable real estate in the city. She now controlled the entire city center.
"I accept," I said.
"Fine," Axehill grumbled. "Accepted."
"One note," I added. "The Eden Supermarket building in Midtown. It’s a custom structure. I want to move it."
"You want to... move the building?" Holson asked.
"Sal Construction has a Path for that," I said. "We will drag it to Southfield. The land is yours. The glass and steel are mine."
"Granted," Holson said. "The Peace Deal is ratified."
The war was officially over.
Holson stood up and tapped a remote, revealing a holographic map of the United States in the center of the table.
"Now," she said. "The real purpose of this summit. The Roadmap."
The map was dark, save for a few bright clusters of light.
"These are the four strongest cities in America," Holson said, pointing to the lights. "New York. Los Angeles. Chicago. Houston."
"They are essentially superpowers of the new world. Every city is more or less independent. The federal government in D.C. fell months ago. It is currently ranked number 22 in terms of power projection. They cannot enforce rule or order."
She zoomed in on Detroit.
"Detroit is ranked number 26 out of 38 independent City States."
I felt a chill. 26. We were bottom tier.
"So Detroit and the surrounding suburbs are essentially a city state," Grace said, speaking for the first time.
"Yes," Holson said. "We are a nation."
She swiped the map to a list.
"There are 12 Major Factions in America today. We do not know much about them outside of their names and vague reports. However..."
She looked at Mister O.
"Seaside is the only Detroit faction on the list."
Mister O bowed his head slightly. "I am humbled."
"The purpose of this summit," Holson said, leaning over the table, "is to tell you all that the era of inter-factional violence is over. We cannot afford it. While you were playing soldier in the suburbs, Chicago was consolidating the entire Midwest. New York has already annexed New Jersey."
She looked at me, then Axehill.
"Imagine if all four of you worked together. Imagine if Eden fed the city. If White Hill defended it. If Seaside supplied it. If The Cove healed it."
"If we want to compete on the national stage and seize the vacuum the government left behind, we have to put our differences aside. That is what the other cities are racing to do."
"Wars like the one between White Hill and Eden cannot ever happen again. Detroit has to be the only faction that matters."
"So what is the roadmap?" she asked rhetorically.
"The roadmap is to win the Race of the City States. To become the most powerful city in the country and exercise control over all the rest. To become the new federal government."
It was as ambitious as it was insane and it was exactly what I needed to hear.
"Oh, Ms. Mayor," Mister O said, breaking the silence with a chuckle. "Your boldness is matched only by your ambition."
"So do we have a deal?" Holson asked.
I looked at Axehill. He nodded, his arms crossed.
I looked at Misty. She shrugged, but gave a thumbs up.
I looked at Mister O. He smiled.
We looked at Holson.
"We have a deal," we said in unison.
Operation: Win the Race of the City States had begun.