The girl sighed, and at the quivering edges of her smile, Beelathorn detected sothing... was it anger? Hatred?
He was not certain.
Regardless, that was enough to satisfy the suspicion that burned within him. Unpaid human kindness made no sense to him, especially when it ca in the form of a beautiful woman.
"Do you believe we’d try to hurt a founding mber, Mister Han?" she asked.
"I don’t have to believe anything. You stuffed in a cell, then tied to a post like a dog. I’d say you’ve done more than just hurt ."
The girl fell silent at that.
"However, I am rather tired. So if you could get into the strange-looking door, and take to my room —if this actually leads to my room, that is— I’d be very grateful."
The girl reluctantly nodded.
"Very well then... Han."
The door led into a small room, about the size of an elevator. The girl, under Beelathorn’s instruction, stood right in front of the door. If anyone thought to attack him, the girl would be his at shield. At the very least, she’d provide the few seconds he needed to activate Queen’s Gaze.
However, not even a few seconds passed before the door opened again.
"We’re here."
’That was fast,’ he thought to himself.
The other side of his mind stirred. ’A ntal note has been made to investigate these, ’spatial doors’. Their working may prove helpful in our quest for the tower.’
Beelathorn nodded at that. ’Couldn’t have asked for a better assistant.’
’We believe the correct term is partner,’ his other mind replied.
"Han?" The girl’s voice broke Beelathorn’s train of thought. And he found her staring at him expectantly past the doorway.
A long hallway awaited him: pristine white walls, with hell-red doors lined along either side.
"Yours is the one on the far right. The captain’s room," the girl said. "I hope you will rember our hospitality when you make your report at High Central," she added, gesturing for him to get out.
It seed that she had grown tired of playing friendly. And quite frankly, Beelathorn preferred it that way. He’d rather build his alliances from the gutters up than have them handed to him, with the possibility of a dagger hidden behind pretty smiles.
"The room. Can you enter it?" he asked. This ti it was he who smiled. Though he was certain, it seed more like a snarl in this bee-humanoid form of his.
The girl stord ahead. "Of course, your highness," she whispered sarcastically.
Beelathorn followed behind as the girl opened the door to his new quarters. It was a rather large room, three tis larger than his own room back on Earth.
King-sized bed, a dressing mirror that seed fit for a queen, and an odd stone slab at the corner of the room with strange inscriptions etched into its surface —and it was that which had his imdiate attention.
The girl noticed this. "We’ve gotten the extension stations to level 2, but of course, it’s nothing like what you might find in High Central," the girl explained, walking towards the slab. It flickered to life with a tap of her finger, its inscriptions glowing like enchanted hieroglyphs. "Map capability, tele-communication, and system assistance are all online," she said, as a holographic image of a system screen poured out from the top.
"But no crafting and teleportation."
’Extension stations, huh. Useful... very useful.’
Beelathorn approached the slab, examining it with heavy eyes. He needed sleep, and he needed it now. "I’m not familiar with this... model. Do you mind explaining how it works?"
The girl stared at him for a mont, hesitant for so reason. However, she quickly shrugged before pointing at a sun-shaped hieroglyph at the front-facing side of the extension slab.
"The only difference between these and the newer models is the lack of system resonance. So you can’t ’own’ or lock one. But activation is the sa. Just tap this," she said, before tapping the sun hieroglyph.
Beelathorn nodded before testing it out himself.
『Sync with [Lv.2 Extension Station] ?』
’Yes.’
『Loading...』
With that, a low buzzing sound began to emanate from the station, and it seed like the hieroglyphs themselves were beginning to morph as well.
"Is this supposed to be happening?" he asked.
The girl shook her head, staring wide-eyed as the station changed from its previous soft blue glow to a bright gold colour.
『Unexpected System Rank. Reconfiguring station...』
The station’s glow suddenly dimd to a faint grey colour and the buzzing sound ca to a stop.
The girl peeled her eyes from the station and stared at Beelathorn in both confusion and awe. "I’ve never seen it go into update mode before," she whispered. "I an, the captain used this all the ti. It wouldn’t even need to update unless—" she paused, as if having suddenly figured sothing out.
"Mister Han. What rank are you?"
Beelathorn turned to look at her with a blank expression. He could lie and say S-rank, but he couldn’t be too sure if that would co to sting him in the ass later on. So for now, silence was the safest answer.
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it’ll take an hour for it to co out of update mode. So you’ll have to be patient until then."
"Anyway, I can’t say it was a pleasure to et you, but then again, this is Apocalypse. When is it ever a pleasure?" the girl said, before heading for the door.
Beelathorn raised his hand. "Wait."
The girl stopped an inch from the door.
"Does the door lock?" he asked.
The girl rolled her eyes and tossed him a crimson card. "Spatial locking. You don’t need to worry about anyone breaking in."
"Will that be all?" she asked.
Beelathorn remained silent for a mont. He’d torn away her fake hospitality; now was the ti to sow the seeds for later alliance... or at the very least acquaintanceship.
"I never got your na."
The girl clicked her tongue. "Jack."
"An interesting na for a girl."
Jack’s eyes narrowed at him, and for the first ti, she showed pure, unbridled anger towards him. "That’s because I’m not a girl," he spat.
Before Beelathorn had ti to rebut, Jack stord out and slamd the door behind him.
Beelathorn stood in silence for a good minute before speaking. "How the hell was I supposed to know that was a boy?" he whispered.
’Androgen levels indicated that the creature known as Jack was male. Should we mark the gender of each individual we et to prevent a repeat of this?’
Beelathorn sighed before slumping on the bed. ’Would’ve helped if you told earlier, that’s for sure,’ he replied, eyelids becoming heavy as the soft pillows, carressed the hardened carapace of his face.
’If "we" told "us" earlier. Repeated use of individualistic language could cause a fracturing of the self. We are... a fragile existence.
’Philosophy, huh? You should write a book,’ Beelathorn replied, with a yawn. ’But can we talk about that later. Right now... sleep.’
*
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