Insomniac Player

The bell rang shortly after the noon.

John was in the kitchen building something he insisted was medicinal soup. The smell suggested he’d confused medicine with punishment somewhere along the way.

Damien stayed on the sofa with Walk of Night open across his knees. He’d learned that reading the manual while John watched counted as allowed. Moving either foot did not.

The bell rang again, three rapid presses followed by one long, sustained note.

"That’ll be Hamari."

"How do you know that?"

"Nobody else rings a doorbell like they’re entering a cheat code."

John opened the door.

Hamari came in first, two bags of snacks in hand, wearing a bright jacket printed with tiny rifles. Daria followed in a dark, fitted coat, her expression cool enough to drop the temperature of the whole hallway. Naked Nun walked in beside her, dressed in white and red combat gear that read as a religious habit only for a religion that strongly approved of exposed thighs. Doctor Smoke came last, cigarette balanced between two fingers despite the building’s clearly posted rules against it.

Rahul and Imran followed behind them all. Rahul wore a silver summer coat with no practical relationship to summer whatsoever. Imran wore his military uniform and the expression of a man arriving for an inspection.

"Patient acquired," Hamari announced. "He looks alive. Low resolution, but alive."

Doctor Smoke glanced at his bandages. "I’ve discharged healthier corpses."

"You’re not his doctor," John said.

"That’s never once stopped me from judging medical decisions."

Naked Nun leaned over the sofa. "Show me the dangerous wounds."

"No."

"The ordinary ones?"

"Also no."

"You’re making recovery very boring for the rest of us."

Daria set a small case on the table. "High-grade recovery potions. One every twelve hours. Ignore anything Salma recommends if she was smoking while she said it."

Doctor Smoke exhaled toward the open balcony. "My lungs and my professional opinions run on completely separate systems."

Rahul studied him head to foot. "Hospital clothes are unfortunate. The blood at least gives them some structure."

Imran moved past all of it and opened a status-sharing request. "Level."

Damien accepted.

➤[Damien]

➤[Level: 30]

➤[Available Stat Points: 30]

Imran’s eyebrows rose a fraction. From him, that was the emotional equivalent of shouting.

"Ten levels off one gate."

"One per floor."

"Points still unassigned?"

"For now."

"Good. Don’t spend them until you understand exactly what Walk of Night requires, and what weaknesses that gate actually exposed."

Rahul pulled his sunglasses down his nose. "You say that like putting all thirty into Charisma isn’t a valid life strategy."

"It isn’t."

"That’s exactly why your uniforms look like tax forms."

For a few minutes the whole penthouse filled with overlapping questions at once. Hamari wanted to know if the duplicate had inherited his insomnia too. Naked Nun wanted to know if fighting yourself counted as intimate contact. Daria wanted the gate’s exact scaling formula written down. Doctor Smoke wanted to actually look at the wound in his back. Rahul wanted to know whether his final duplicate had at least upgraded the hospital clothes.

Imran waited for everyone else to run out of air.

"The army’s classified the operation. No public release will name you."

"Martin already told me."

Hamari dropped into a chair. "So the world’s most famous missing coma cryptid clears a murder mirror tower and gets zero clout for it?"

"That was the whole point."

"Tragic. Responsible. Still tragic."

Daria’s eyes settled on him. "Staying hidden is sensible. Your level’s low enough to attract predators. Your potential’s high enough to interest them anyway."

"You make him sound like an investment," Rahul said.

"Everything sounds like an investment to your guild."

"Only the valuable things do."

John arrived with the soup. The whole room went quiet.

Doctor Smoke inspected the grey surface. "What illness is this trying to cause?"

"Recovery soup."

"From what?"

"Everything."

"Including my appetite?" Damien asked.

John set the bowl in front of him. "Eat."

Conversation picked back up while Damien negotiated with the contents. Eventually Doctor Smoke leaned against the balcony door and looked at Daria, Naked Nun, and Hamari.

"Tell him."

Hamari brightened instantly. "We’re joining the army."

Daria corrected her without missing a beat. "We’re registering as military freelancers."

"Army-adjacent." Hamari shrugged. "Same danger, fewer matching outfits."

Damien lowered his spoon. "Why?"

Naked Nun smiled. "Because you walked into a ten-floor combat tower without us, and apparently letting you out of sight produces very interesting violence."

"That’s not the reason," Daria said.

"It’s one of mine."

Doctor Smoke tapped ash into a sealed metal case. "I’m already registered. Former military, current government contractor, plenty of paperwork proving I make bad life choices for a living. These three met Martin this morning."

Damien looked at Imran.

"They passed the assessments."

"With style," Rahul added.

"You weren’t there."

"I can infer style."

Daria crossed her legs. "We put one condition on the registration. We work together. Assigned to you whenever possible."

Damien looked around at each of them in turn.

Doctor Smoke wore careless like a costume, but her eyes tracked his reaction through the drifting smoke the whole time. Naked Nun made no effort to hide how pleased she looked. Hamari smiled like they’d already picked out matching profile pictures. Daria sat perfectly composed, and she was the one who’d stated the condition in the first place.

"You don’t have to do this."

"Correct," Daria said. "We chose to."

"Bro, we survived Ironfall and Tycho together." Hamari leaned forward. "Splitting the party at this point violates narrative law."

"There’s no such thing as narrative law."

"That’s exactly what someone inside one would say."

John pointed the soup spoon at Damien. "They should go with you."

"You objected when Martin offered me soldiers."

"Those were strangers. These four already know how often you mistake bleeding out for a minor inconvenience."

Doctor Smoke raised her cigarette. "I recognize bleeding professionally."

Naked Nun raised a hand. "I appreciate it aesthetically."

"That didn’t help," Daria said.

A golden panel opened above the table before Damien could answer. Sir Martin appeared in full uniform.

"I was told everyone had gathered."

John looked at Imran. "You told him?"

"Yes."

"Traitor."

"Efficient."

Martin’s projection turned toward Damien. "Freelancer registrations are complete. Doctor Smoke keeps her existing military agreement. Madam Marvel, Naked Nun, and DeluluGirl have all signed limited-service contracts matching yours."

"DeluluGirl is on an official government contract?"

Hamari pressed a hand over her heart. "The institutions have finally embraced culture."

"The legal officer asked her to reconsider the alias," Martin said. "She declined."

"I defended freedom."

"You sent him a sticker."

"A patriotic sticker."

Martin continued with the patience of a man who commanded whole armies specifically because the alternative was commanding conversations like this one.

"A five-person party’s been registered. Doctor Smoke holds field authority wherever medical or military procedure requires it. Operational leadership goes to whoever the mission actually calls for."

Doctor Smoke smiled, lazy. "So I’m the leader right up until something explodes. Then Damien starts giving orders, and everyone pretends we all agreed on that in advance."

"Historically accurate," Daria said.

"The party needs a designation." Martin paused. "I’ve selected Nova Corps."

Hamari stared at the projection. "Nova Corps."

"Correct."

"That’s dangerously close to Nova Corpse."

Naked Nun looked delighted. "I actually prefer the second one."

"The name stays Nova Corps."

A blue notification opened in front of each of them.

➤[Party Registration Complete.]

➤[Designation: Nova Corps.]

➤[Affiliation: Earth-69 Regional Defense, Military Freelancers.]

➤[Members: Sleepless, Doctor Smoke, Naked Nun, Madam Marvel, DeluluGirl.]

➤[Military command authority: Not assigned.]

➤[Operational deployment: Pending.]

Damien read the member list twice.

For two years the others had kept moving without him. John had turned into a legend. Imran had become a general. Rahul had become a vice guild leader and, for reasons Damien still didn’t fully understand, an international style icon somehow on top of that. The girls had built a team strong enough to clear gates on their own while he lay in a hospital room nobody had been able to reach him inside.

And now my name’s sitting right there next to theirs again.

Not beneath them. Not ahead of them either.

Beside them.

"One more matter," Martin said. "The Prime Minister’s requested the Nova Corps present in two days. Sir John as well."

John’s mustache dropped. "Why?"

"That’s not a subject for an unsecured projection."

Doctor Smoke sighed. "Secret government meetings. Nothing good ever starts with one of those."

"Attendance is voluntary," Martin added.

Every eye in the room landed on Damien.

He looked at the new party window one more time.

"We’ll go."

The notification stayed pinned in the corner of his vision.

➤[Nova Corps formed.]

For the first time since coming back to Earth-69, Damien belonged to something the system hadn’t forced onto him at all.

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