Two days after opening, the Kharis Inn had a waiting list longer than my patience.
{Administrative monitoring: Heightened activity detected}
{Economic anomaly: Significant deviation from baseline metrics}
A week and a half since I'd first arrived in Kharis, and the transformation was remarkable. What started as a dying desert settlement was now a legitimate trade destination.
The desert trading hub I'd built was booming beyond any reasonable projection. Business success on this scale would definitely trigger algorithmic attention from whatever cosmic systems monitored regional economic stability.
I pressed my forehead against the office window. Another caravan was arguing their way into our packed courtyard. The merchants wore those twitchy smiles people get when they can't decide if they're dealing with revolutionary genius or elaborate madness. Their gold spent the same either way, but their nervousness was starting to infect me.
"Henrietta's squad, formation Delta!"
Twelve enhanced chickens snapped into perfect V-formation below. Their synchronized head movements tracked the approaching horses like living weapons systems. The lead merchant's mount—supposedly a fearless desert stallion bred for courage—took one look at their coordinated stare and decided retreat was the better part of valor.
"Your chickens are... magnificent!" The caravan master's voice pitched too high. "Such extraordinary discipline!"
The inn's runaway success was creating ripple effects I hadn't planned for. Caravans rerouting entire trade circuits to stay here. Merchants from the Jade Coast adding Kharis to official maps. The village elder had stopped looking at me like I was sun-mad and started looking at me like I might know what I was doing.
Dangerous assumption, given my recent track record with cosmic bureaucracy.
{Pattern analysis: Economic growth rate exceeds natural parameters}
{Automated assessment: Probable system exploitation detected}
{Recommendation: Enhanced surveillance protocols}
{Status: Monitoring escalation authorized}
I stared at those notifications until the implications hit me.
There was a monitoring station close to my little economic miracle. I was right under the nose of whatever cosmic system was cataloguing every anomalous transaction I made.
Great. Fucking fantastic.
Routine audits were manageable. Emergency response teams kept me awake at night, staring at that timer. But being under direct observation opened up entirely new categories of ways to die horribly.
"Boss!" Yusuf jogged up to my window. "We've got another problem."
"Scale of one to 'we're all going to die'?"
"Depends how you feel about competition."
He pointed toward the desert road. Dust clouds marked another approaching group. These weren't merchants or nervous travelers. Black and silver banners meant protection rackets and marginally legitimate business concerns.
[Entity Scan: Iron Syndicate Raiders x15]
[Threat Level: Moderate]
[Intent: Territorial dispute/Revenue assessment]
The Iron Syndicate. Highway robbers who'd clawed their way up to organized extortion. Word of our success had reached them, and they'd decided to investigate their potential cut.
Just what this situation needed—armed criminals with a business plan.
I opened the inn's communication system, speaking tubes I'd installed during construction back when room service was my biggest concern. "Henrietta, we've got company. Fifteen riders, hostile intent, approaching from the east."
Her response came back as sharp, precise clicks. Chicken morse code she'd developed for tactical situations. I was still getting used to having a poultry genius for head of security.
—Ready for engagement. Request permission for advanced deterrence protocols.
"Negative. Standard intimidation first. Only escalate if they draw weapons."
The raiders approached with practiced swagger, years of getting their way through implied violence. Their leader, Syndra, a blonde-haired woman carrying more weapons than seemed practical. Dismounted from her camel and strutted toward the entrance like she owned the place.
Henrietta made her entrance by dropping from the roof like a feathered bolt of lightning. She landed directly in the woman's path, wings spread, neck extended in full aggressive display. The raider's hand moved toward her sword hilt.
Unfortunately for her, it was a mistake.
Eleven more chickens materialized from concealed positions. Roof edges, window sills, strategic shadows. A perfect containment circle around the raiders. Heads cocked at identical angles, eyes locked on targets with mathematical precision.
The horses started getting nervous. Smart animals recognized predator formations.
"What in the seven bloody hells..." The leader's voice carried less confidence than her posture.
"Security chickens," I called down, projecting authority I didn't feel. "They take their job seriously."
She looked up at me, then around at the tactical poultry deployment, then back. Her expression suggested rapid business model recalculation.
"You're the innkeeper everyone's talking about."
"That's me. Looking for a room for the night?"
She snorted, dismissing the suggestion with a shake of her head. "We're here about territorial agreements. Business arrangements."
"We heard stories. Bandits fleeing from livestock. Caravans paying premium for rooms guarded by farm birds." Her hand stayed near her sword, but she wasn't stupid enough to draw it with twelve enhanced chickens tracking every muscle twitch. "Sounded like exaggerations."
"Do they look like exaggerations?"
She studied Henrietta's aggressive stance, took in the synchronized positioning, and reached some internal conclusion.
"Iron Syndicate likes to know who's operating in our territory. Especially anyone making this much noise about protection services."
I leaned against the window frame, channeling every ounce of fake confidence I could manage.
"Your territory? Don't recall seeing any Iron Syndicate infrastructure investments in Kharis. No roads built, no wells dug, no aid during drought years." I gestured at the bustling courtyard.
"But I'm sure you'll want to contribute now that things are profitable."
The silence stretched tight. The bandits fidgeted in their saddles while Henrietta's flock held position, twelve sets of eyes tracking every twitch. One wrong move and this would get messy fast.
{ALERT: Dimensional stability fluctuation detected}
{Classification: Administrative contact imminent}
The desert heat-shimmer twisted unnaturally, air bending in ways that hurt to look at directly. The space between the raiders and my inn began to fold, reality creasing like paper as something that definitely wasn't supposed to exist in this dimensional layer started to manifest.
Syndra, the Iron Syndicate leader looked around frantically.
A figure in black robes stepped through the tear in space, and every enhanced chicken on my security team suddenly looked like house pets facing a wolf pack.