ReunionThe dust had settled.
My new forward operating base, a glorious monument to my own magnificent impatience, was secure.
It was a fortress built on a knife's edge, a tiny island of demonic power in a vast, angry ocean of humanity.
"This is a problem," I announced to the assembled commanders, my voice a low, dangerous purr that echoed in the pre-dawn gloom.
The problem, of course, was not the twenty-eight thousand angry humans who wanted to turn me into a fine red paste.
That was just Tuesday.
The problem was what to do next.
Pixia, my tiny, flying encyclopedia of all things statistical and annoying, zipped anxiously around my head.
"My Lord, a frontal assault on the human city of Suzu is statistically inadvisable!" she squeaked. "My projections indicate a 99.3% probability of catastrophic failure and a 100% probability of you getting very, very grumpy!"
"Your projections are obvious, Pixia," I retorted, slumping into a hastily conjured throne of black stone.
