BANG. BANG. BANG.
Caldrin’s roars filled the back room. Papers and documents flew, hard drives and silver disks shattering into an endless rain.
He hardly looked like the kind octopus he had been before. His head bulged, his eyes turning a demonic hue. His beak, hidden beneath his head and at the connecting point of his tentacles, became akin to a black hole.
Energy and power the likes of which were unknown and impossible on Earth radiated out from him.
It took several seconds before Caldrin managed to calm, the color of his skin fading back from a dense black to a shimmering violet once again. Slowly, his hurricane-like breath eased and the room settled into a chaotic mess.
’What do I do? What do I do?’
Grey’s feat of engineering should have been front-page stuff, but Caldrin had buried it. He didn’t want more attention going to Grey if he could help it.
The sub-plot between Grey and Joaquin was fine. But if Grey showed too much use, Associate Producer Gard would want him to survive. The only way Caldrin would be able to change Gard’s mind on something like that was to reveal the truth—that they should have killed Grey the moment he appeared.
However, the more this went on, the more it seemed like this was exactly what Caldrin would have to do. He was running out of options, and the odds of Joaquin coming out on top had gone from 70/30 in Caldrin’s estimation to 60% in Grey’s favor.
And that was taking into account the fact Joaquin was currently improving his stats while Grey still didn’t have access to the system.
If Grey managed to find a Spirit for the Mechanical Jaw Lineage’s vessel in time, Joaquin wouldn’t even have a 20% chance.
’How is this possible? How is this possible?’
Successfully forging something as complicated as a vessel on a first attempt made no sense whatsoever. Grey didn’t even hitch or pause; it was like he had been doing it his entire life.
A talent like that...
Caldrin shuddered from head to toe.
Talents like that should only appear in the higher order races participating in the Genesis Games, not from a Cracked World added just to give the early game more spice than it would usually have.
And such "talents" were often trained from youth. Grey had no such training.
Was this why the Council was insistent on the death of such individuals before they even had a chance?
Caldrin suddenly felt like he was in over his head.
’No. There’s no choice. I have to tell Associate Producer Gard. That’s the only chance I have. If I let this continue, I’ll just be postponing my death, and I might even drag my family into this.’
Resolve flashed in Caldrin’s eyes.
’I can’t just go like this, though. I need some dirt on Gard, just something that’ll make him stand on my side instead of trying to throw me under the bus. So long as we can kill this Grey Temolt before anyone notices, we should get off scot-free and still make a profit.’
The question was, where was he going to get dirt on Gard?
’Everyone has skeletons in their closet.’
You didn’t move up in this world—especially not when you were from a poor Race like Caldrin’s—by playing by the rules. He was the second in command to an Associate Producer on the biggest intergalactic reality TV show there was precisely because he was resourceful.
His species was seen as little more than rodents, but he had still made it here. He wasn’t about to let an ant from a Cracked World ruin everything he had worked for.
After some thought, Caldrin brought out a device. It hovered before him in several panels like a floating folding phone. His tentacles rapidly tapped at them.
"Caldrin. Make this quick."
A cold voice echoed.
"Vreyon, I know you’re busy, but I’m sure you know you owe me a debt. If not for me, you wouldn’t be—"
"Cut the bullshit, Caldrin. I’ve already repaid the debt. Or do you forget how you ended up as an Assistant Producer?"
"Don’t treat me like an idiot, Vreyon. You put me in charge of the Cracked World. Not a single soul from this hodgepodge of stupid humans will survive beyond the third arc. By then I’ll be out of a job."
"You’ll also have the chance to put your work front and center."
"Or maybe nothing of interest will happen and only the higher order races will be featured."
Vreyon fell into silence for a long moment.
"What do you want, Caldrin?"
"Gard. I know you have dirt on him, otherwise he wouldn’t have let me join on so easily. What is it?"
"You’re playing a dangerous game, Caldrin."
"Why do you think I let you shortchange me on payment? Unless you want the Council to know what you cooked up for these Genesis Games, I advise you cooperate."
A hollow, dangerous laugh came from the other end, but Caldrin didn’t push, just waiting patiently.
"... You’ll receive a message in short order. Erase it after you’re finished. My bottom line is that Gard may be allowed to know that you’re aware of his dealings, but not that you have hard evidence on hand. That is mine and mine alone to have.
"I’m sure you know what will happen if you don’t cooperate."
"We have a good working relationship, Vreyon. No need for me to ruin it. I will listen."
"Then we are even."
"We are even."
Caldrin hung up, and quickly afterward, he received his message. He opened up the equivalent of an email chain and read through it with lightning speed. The more he read, the brighter his eyes became, and his skin began to shift back to black.
When he was done, he deleted the entire chain as promised and put his device away, turning to leave.
He walked out of the door and his voice boomed toward a group of nearby slime.
"Clean up this mess!" he barked. "Hm?"
Caldrin’s head whipped to one side, looking down a long hallway. His eyes narrowed, but a beeping at his side caught his attention. "Shit!"
He rushed away.
What he didn’t know was that around a corner, a familiar spider-legged lady was heaving for breath, sweat coating her from head to waist.