CHAPTER 5
The bullheaded beast recoiled at Grayson’s shout before uttering an indignant, “How rude.”
“It talks?” Grayson’s jaw dropped.
“Yes, and in several languages, if you must know,” the beast replied. “You must be the new Libra Zodiac Warrior.”
“He is.” Leila stepped out from behind Grayson with a frown. “I apologize for his reaction. He’s still adjusting to his new situation.”
“Understandable, and I forgive him. It’s not every day one meets a legend,” the bullman stated with a tilt of his massive head. “You’ve probably heard of me, the mighty minotaur, although my friends call me Asterion.”
“You’re a myth.” A living breathing one, and Grayson struggled with that fact.
“All myths have a kernel of truth at their core, as you’ll learn. You are the hockey player who fought back against the aliens.”
“Yeah.”
“Quick thinking on your part. The videos of your actions have gone viral.”
“Really?” He shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Is there any tragedy that doesn’t have someone recording and posting in the hopes of going viral?” Asterion shook his head. “Modern society is morally lacking. To think, they would cowardly record rather than intervene and render aid.”
“Can’t blame them. Those monsters were tough and ain’t much a person can do with their fists against claws and teeth.” Hell, if Grayson had been on the bench or in the stands, he likely would have fled instead of fighting.
“You lacked a true weapon and still managed to fell a few.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve always been a bit of a bruiser on the ice,” Grayson admitted with a sheepish shrug.
“A fighter is just what the Zodiacs need,” Asterion declared.
“This fighter needs to eat, given the trauma he’s recovered from,” Leila stated.
“Ah, yes, he must maintain his strength. I would join you, but I am off to meet with the librarian. He’s promised to show me some lost texts. However, I look forward to conversing with you soon.” Asterion waved as he strode off.
“Hot damn,” Grayson muttered. “How many more legends am I going to run into?”
“Not many inside Tower. Asterion is slightly unique in the sense that he’s actually intelligent and doesn’t resort to violence like many non-humans do.”
“How did he end up here? I thought the minotaur lived in a maze.”
“He didn’t live there by choice. It was a prison, and in exchange for his freedom, he aided the warriors on a quest. I’m sure Asterion will tell you all about it.
He does enjoy talking. Now, if you’ll follow me, let’s get you something to eat.
” She then indicated he should stand in front of a niche tucked into a wall.
“How do I place an order?” he asked, not seeing a microphone to speak into.
“You don’t. The cooks in the kitchen will provide what you need.”
He glanced at her. “More magic?”
“The food itself is real, as are those preparing it. However, from what I’ve gathered, the kitchen exists in some kind of time bubble, so that the preparation, no matter how long, ends up being only seconds for the person waiting. Take a look.”
A glance at the niche showed a plate had appeared, holding a steak, garden salad, and a smothered baked potato. His favorite.
“Damn, that’s kind of crazy.”
“Just Tower being efficient. Warriors don’t always have time to wait for a meal, so Tower created a solution. You’ll also find the repasts high-quality and delicious. Those working the kitchen are very talented chefs.”
“What if I need a midnight snack or something?” He carried the plate to a table that he’d have sworn didn’t have utensils wrapped in a fabric napkin when he walked in.
“Chances are you’ll have a stash of edibles in your room. Drinks as well.”
“This place is better than a hotel.” He cut into the medium-rare and buttery soft steak. He almost groaned at the flavor.
“I told you. Tower takes care of us.”
“What does Tower get out of it?”
Her brow knit. “I’m not sure. Perhaps the same satisfaction a parent feels caring for a child.” She shrugged. “Whatever the reason, you will want for nothing.”
In between bites, he kept asking questions. “You said earlier you’re a doctor but also a scientist?”
“Given ailments are rare amongst the other inhabitants, I have plenty of time to do research, my true passion. The warriors will sometimes bring back samples from their missions. Blood mostly.” Her nose wrinkled.
“Bodies, if they’re not destroyed on the spot.
Occasionally, unidentified plants.” She paused before adding, “I have your skates and jersey in my lab and have been examining the alien residue.”
“Are they really aliens?” he queried, taking another heavenly steak bite.
“I’d say most definitely. The cells I’ve been examining are nothing like anything I’ve ever seen on Earth and are behaving most peculiarly.”
“In what sense?” He didn’t really care, but he found himself enjoying looking and listening to Leila.
Upon first meeting, he’d been struck by her petite and frail appearance.
However, the more she spoke and revealed, the more he realized her strength and determination.
Attractive, smart, and way too hot for a battered old man like him.
“The cells haven’t died yet, which is something I’ve never seen.”
“Zombie aliens,” he joked.
“You laugh. However, that’s not far off. The tiny hunk of flesh I’ve been studying should be inert but, instead, appears to be regenerating when fed meat protein.”
“Meaning you might be growing a new alien in your lab?”
Her laughter tightened his groin. Good thing the table hid his lap.
“I doubt that. The sample is very tiny, and while it appears to be repairing and gaining in size when given certain types of food, I’ve not provided enough for it to do anything of substance.”
“Good, because you don’t want one of those things to get loose in this tower. They’re killers.” He finished his meal and stood with the plate. “That was delicious. Where do the dirty dishes go?”
“You can leave it on the table.”
“Seems kind of rude and lazy.”
“I assure you, it’s fine. Shall we resume the tour?”
She led him up the next few floors and pointed out the library, the training gym, the administrative offices. On the eighth level by his count, he noticed the carpet ripple.
“Why’s the floor doing that?” He pointed.
“It’s Tower seeking our attention.”
“What for?”
“See that open door?” She pointed up the hall. “That will be your apartment.”
He honestly didn’t expect much, probably a generic hotel-like room.
He walked into the loft of his dreams. Exposed stone walls, big fucking windows, a massage chair like he had at home, a La-Z-Boy recliner in front of a big-ass television, and was that an old school waterbed? “Damn, this place is nice.”
“I told you, Tower aims to please. Now that you’re settled, I am going to return to my lab.”
A part of him almost asked her to stay. He instead blurted out, “When will I see you again?”
“Never. I only provided a tour because no one else was available.”
“Oh. Any idea of what happens next? What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t usually interact with the warriors, but from what I know, expect some training and, once you’re ready, being sent on missions. Good luck, Libra.”
“Actually, I prefer the name Grayson.”
“In that case, good luck, Grayson. Fare thee well.”
With that, she left, leaving him alone in his new luxury apartment.
At least his new job as protector of the world came with perks, such as an epic shower with multiple heads that sluiced him clean.
Blood, dust, everything washed down the drain, and he grimaced as he realized just how gross he’d been.
No wonder Leila barely spared him a second glance.
When he dried himself with a giant fluffy towel, he did a double take because the scar from when his appendix burst had disappeared.
As had the white gash left by a blade to the shin.
His body hadn’t just healed recent wounds, but old ones, too.
Turning his back to the mirror, he craned to look over his shoulder and saw the tattoo mentioned earlier.
“Geezus fucking Christ. It covers my whole back,” he exclaimed. More magic, since he definitely didn’t recall lying still for hours while someone inked him.
As he towel-dried his hair, he paused and leaned closer to stare. He didn’t imagine it. There was definitely less gray in his hair. Rejuvenation? Kind of cool.
If being truthful, now that he’d dropped the skepticism, this entire experience had him excited for the future.
He’d wanted something to do when he retired, and he’d already landed a job.
As to the whole leaving his old life behind?
Would anyone notice he’d disappeared? Not really.
No living family. No girlfriend. Just a couple of friends who’d likely assume he died in the alien attack, speaking of which…
He located the remote for the television and turned it on. A news channel popped up on the screen.
“…authorities are struggling to keep ahead of the monstrous menace terrorizing our streets. While the deadly attack by these unknown creatures might have begun in the Scotiabank Arena, it has expanded to many areas of Toronto. Citizens are advised to remain indoors and to barricade all entrances. Please note, if a creature breaks in, you are advised to do your best to hide or fight, as emergency services will not be able to respond in a timely manner.” The news anchor disappeared, his grave expression replaced by live footage from a helicopter.
A strobe light on its underbelly illuminated a city street and showed one of the creatures racing after someone and pouncing.
The video changed before the carnage. As the next clip played, the news anchor began narrating.
“For those just tuning in, the monster attack in Toronto appears to have begun at the Scotiabank Arena, where the Stanley Cup final was in the third period.”