CHAPTER 14: THE UNWANTED GUEST
The air in the portal chamber was thick with the scent of ozone and the nervous energy of the gathered refugees. John stood at the center of the room, his hands on his hips, his internal monologue a frantic race to process the situation.
Okay, okay, deep breaths. This is fine. Just another Tuesday in the interdimensional life of John Nolan. A portal. A new refugee. Nothing I haven't seen before. Right?
The portal, a swirling vortex of green and purple energy, rippled and then, with a soft whump, a large, rock-like creature stumbled out. He was a towering figure, with a gruff, friendly face and a casual, almost bumbling gait. He wore a patched-up suit of armor and carried a large, rusty hammer.
"Hey, mate!" the creature said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that was surprisingly friendly. "You must be the City-Lord, right? Heard you were looking for a hand in the ol' revolution. Glad to see you're a real person, not just a rumor. I'm Korg. This is my friend, Miek."
The creature, Korg, gestured to a small, insect-like being that was clinging to his shoulder. It chittered nervously. John's mind, which had been racing, suddenly came to a screeching halt.
A… revolution? I'm not running a revolution. I'm running a city. A sanctuary. This guy is off his rocker. And who's Miek? Is that a bug? Oh god, I have a bug now. I have a bug on my floating city.
The refugees, a mix of terrified and confused, began to whisper amongst themselves, their fear of the new arrival outweighing their usual awe of the portal's function.
"No, no, Korg," John said, his voice a mixture of frustration and amusement. "This is a city. A sanctuary. We don't have revolutions here. We have… city meetings. And potlucks. And we try to avoid getting into any kind of intergalactic trouble."
"Oh," Korg said, his rocky face scrunching in confusion. "But you've got all the fixings for a revolution. Floating city, big shield-y things, a brave leader… you just need a few more rock-based gladiators and a couple of speeches about smashing the oppressors."
A small, sub-event occurred when Korg, in his bumbling way, accidentally took a step back and tripped over a new Stark tech power conduit, a sleek, humming thing that was no bigger than a shoebox. With a loud crunch, the conduit crumpled, sparks flying from the now-broken casing.
"Oh! My bad, mate," Korg said, looking at the broken conduit with a casual indifference. "Hope that wasn't too important. Looks a bit… fancy."
John's face, which had been a mask of quiet amusement, suddenly went pale. "Korg… that was a Stark tech temporal regulator. It's… it's a big deal. It's what keeps this place from collapsing in on itself."
[
A high-humor threat. Great. Just what I needed. Another problem with a rock monster and a broken piece of tech.
The hilarious misunderstanding, and the expensive setback, set the stage for a new subplot, a subplot of chaos, rock monsters, and a very grumpy Tony Stark, who would, no doubt, want to know what happened to his fancy new toy.
John and his team, a collection of tired, exasperated refugees, led Korg and his pet bug to a quiet, secluded corner of the city. The wind rustled through artificial trees, their leaves a soft, papery sound. The sun, a pale disc in the sky, cast short, sharp shadows. The air, which had been thick with the scent of ozone and dust, now smelled faintly of rock and moss.
"So, Korg," John said, his voice laced with exasperation. "Let's try this again. You're not here for a revolution. You're here for a sanctuary. We don't fight. We heal. We live in peace."
"Right, right, I get it," Korg said, nodding his rocky head. "No more revolutions. Just… healing. And potlucks. I'm good with that. I'm a bit of a pacifist myself, to be honest. Except when it comes to the Grandmaster. That guy's a real jerk."
John's internal monologue, which had been a frantic attempt to get a straight answer, suddenly went into overdrive.
The Grandmaster? As in, the guy who runs Sakaar? The guy who forces people to fight in gladiator games? The cosmic-level threat from the System scan I ran a month ago? Oh, this is not good. This is really, really not good.
"The Grandmaster?" John asked, his voice now a mix of genuine curiosity and mounting fear.
"Yeah, the Grandmaster," Korg said, his voice now a casual, funny account of his past. "He's a real piece of work. He wants me back to fight in his arena. He doesn't like it when his gladiators run away. He's got this weird obsession with shiny things and reality manipulation. It's really annoying. I mean, you're trying to escape and suddenly the floor is made of jelly. Really throws a wrench in your escape plan."
[
A "Character Revelation" trigger from Celeste flashed in John's mind, a subtle nod to Korg's past. Korg mentioned a friend, "Doug," who had also tried to escape, but was "vaporized into a fine paste." The casualness with which he spoke of his friend's demise was both morbidly funny and deeply sad.
The revelation of the Grandmaster raised the stakes, transforming a simple, comedic rescue into a high-stakes, cosmic conflict. John, who had been dealing with a temperamental genius and a broken city, was now dealing with a temperamental cosmic being who could manipulate reality. And all for a bumbling, well-meaning rock monster named Korg.
John's mind, a whirlwind of frantic thoughts, finally came to a decision. He looked at Korg, at his well-meaning, bumbling face, and then at Miek, who chittered nervously on his shoulder. He thought of all the refugees he had saved, all the people he had sworn to protect. He had promised them a sanctuary, a safe haven from the chaos of the multiverse. He couldn't turn his back on them. He couldn't turn his back on Korg.
I can't do it. I can't just hand him over. This city is a sanctuary. It's a promise. A promise I made to every single person who walked through that portal. I have to protect them. All of them. Even the ones made of rock.
John's internal monologue was a mix of grim resolve and reluctant acceptance. He stood up, his face a mask of grim determination. He looked at his team, who were watching him with a mix of fear and curiosity.
"We protect him," John said, his voice quiet but firm. "We protect Korg. And if the Grandmaster comes for him, he comes for all of us."
Korg's rocky face broke into a wide, grateful smile. "Oh, thank you, City-Lord! You won't regret this. We'll be the best pacifists you've ever seen! Except for the occasional revolution, of course. Just kidding!"
[
A "Character Revelation" trigger from Celeste flashed in John's mind, a brief, haunting image of his old life. He saw himself, a young mechanic, working on a broken-down car in a junkyard. He was on his knees, his hands covered in oil, his face streaked with dirt. He was tired, he was alone, and he was working for a man who didn't care about him, who would have thrown him away without a second thought. And now… he was a man who had the power to save someone. He had to. He had to prove to himself that he was more than a mechanic in a junkyard.
The difficult decision set up a new, unexpected conflict. John was no longer just a leader; he was a protector. And he would protect his city and its citizens, no matter the cost. Even if that cost was a war with a cosmic-level threat.
The quiet hum of John's private study was a stark contrast to the chaos of the city. He sat in his chair, the scent of old books and dust filling the air, the low light of the room a quiet, comforting presence. He was alone, and for the first time in a while, he had a chance to think.
A cosmic-level threat. A guy who can manipulate reality. All because I decided to let a walking, talking pile of rocks stay in my city. Did I make the right choice? Is this what being a leader is? Putting a whole city at risk for one person?
[
A "Character Revelation" trigger flashed in John's mind, a humorous but accurate assessment of his mental state.
[
John snorted a laugh, a short, tired sound. "Thanks, Celeste. Always a big help."
The new objective, to prepare for a cosmic threat, weighed on him. It was a new kind of fear, a fear he hadn't felt before. He was no longer just a mechanic. He was a leader. And it was time to act like one
John stood in the center of the dimly lit strategy room. A large holographic map of the universe, a mesmerizing swirl of colors and light, floated in the air. The scent of ozone filled the room, a constant reminder of the new technologies and the new dangers that came with them. His team was gathered around the map, their faces a mix of grim resolve and cautious hope.
"The Grandmaster is a reality-bender," John said, his voice a quiet, determined baritone. "He's not a brute. He's a trickster. A showman. He's not going to just send an army. He's going to send a game. A game we have to win."
"A game?" one of his team members, a former SHIELD agent, asked. "What kind of game?"
"A game of wits," John said, his eyes on the swirling vortex of the Grandmaster's world. "We have to find a way to deal with his army without a full-scale war. We have to outsmart him. We have to beat him at his own game."
[
Celeste's technical explanation, as promised, appeared as a luminous pop-up in his mind.
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