The Inter-Dimensional Patrol
Chapter 2: Demons and Detours
The fluorescent lights of IDP Headquarters buzzed faintly overhead, a constant white-noise reminder that even in the heart of multiversal law enforcement, bureaucracy never truly slept. Zane Vortex—Commissioner Z—sprawled in his ergonomic chair like it owed him money, boots propped on the edge of a desk cluttered with glowing data-pads, half-empty energy-drink cans, and a single framed photo of himself giving a thumbs-up next to a handcuffed eldritch horror that looked mildly embarrassed.
He scrolled through the morning alert feed with the casual boredom of someone who had already seen every possible flavor of cosmic nonsense.
"Realm 89. Steampunk-industrial fantasy mash-up. Mad alchemist-scientist type has been pulling Silicon Valley startup bros through micro-portals and reincarnating them as clockwork golems. Apparently he's trying to build an 'unstoppable workforce' to overthrow the Sky Baroness. Victims complaining about 'loss of equity' and 'hostile takeover of soul.'"
Z snorted into his coffee. "Equity. In a world with literal sky barons. That's adorable."
The briefing-room door hissed open. Reyes strode in first—six-foot-two of former Marine muscle wrapped in matte-black tactical weave, her left arm a gleaming cybernetic prosthesis that could punch through tank armor or delicately thread a needle, depending on her mood. Today her mood appeared to be "mildly homicidal."
"Boss. You read the file?"
"Skimmed. Same old mad-science fanfiction. Why?"
"Because this one's got active portal bleed. If we don't move fast, he'll start mass-recruiting. Last count was thirty-two missing tech bros. Stock prices on Earth are dipping because half the crypto bros vanished mid-pitch."
Z raised an eyebrow. "The market notices when venture capitalists stop tweeting?"
"Apparently."
Sparks slipped in next, already tapping furiously at a wrist-mounted holo-pad. His hair looked like it had lost an argument with static electricity. "I've got the signature locked. Portal resonance is sloppy—amateur hour. We can piggyback their own rift, come out right in his laboratory. Minimal collateral if we're surgical."
Jax lumbered through the doorway last, ducking slightly even though the frame was tall enough. Built like a linebacker who ate linebackers for breakfast, he carried a custom breach-shield that doubled as a riot-control battering ram. "Yo, boss. I got a good one for this mission."
Z groaned preemptively. "Hit me."
"Why did the golem go to therapy?"
Silence.
"Because it had too many unresolved issues with its creator!"
Reyes pinched the bridge of her nose. Lena, leaning against the wall with her long-range phase-rifle cradled like a baby, actually cracked a tiny smile before hiding it behind her coffee mug.
Z pointed at Jax. "That was terrible. I'm proud. Let's roll."
Fifteen minutes later the strike team was suited, armed, and stepping onto the jump platform. The chamber smelled of ozone and heated metal. A vertical ring of blue-white energy stabilized in front of them, rippling like liquid starlight.
"Standard formation," Z said, voice suddenly all business beneath the easy drawl. "Reyes and Jax take point, shield wall. Sparks seals secondary rifts on contact. Lena, high ground, overwatch. I'll handle the caster. Questions?"
Reyes cracked her knuckles—real and cybernetic. "Can I break his fancy goggles?"
"Only if he monologues first."
The team stepped through.
Realm 89 hit like a slap of hot brass and coal smoke.
They emerged on a catwalk suspended above an industrial cathedral of whirring pistons, hissing steam valves, and copper conduits that glowed cherry-red. Massive gears turned lazily in the walls, each tooth the size of a car. Arcane sigils burned along every surface, fusing magic and machinery into something grotesque and beautiful.
Below them, in the heart of the foundry, Dr. Elias Cogsworth stood on a raised dais. Tall, rail-thin, wearing a leather greatcoat studded with glowing vacuum tubes and mismatched brass buttons. His goggles reflected green fire. Around him, thirty-two human-sized clockwork golems shuffled in precise formation—each one wearing the tattered remnants of designer hoodies, expensive sneakers, and confused expressions etched permanently into their metal faces.
One golem raised a hand that ended in a quill instead of fingers. "Bro… this is not the Series A we signed up for."
Cogsworth spun, coat flaring dramatically. "Silence, construct number seventeen! Your old life is irrelevant! You are now part of the Grand Mechanism—the perfect labor force!"
Z stepped to the railing, hands in pockets, looking for all the world like he'd just strolled into a mildly disappointing art gallery.
"Stop. Hands up. Hands where I can see them."
Cogsworth blinked. "Who dares interrupt the apotheosis of industry?"
"Inter-Dimensional Patrol. Commissioner Vortex. You're under arrest for thirty-two counts of unauthorized soul translocation, forced metaphysical restructuring, and operating an unlicensed reincarnation program without proper OSHA-equivalent dimensional permits."
Cogsworth laughed—a high, grating sound. "Permits? In MY laboratory? You stand before genius!"
Z sighed the sigh of a man who had heard this speech seventeen times this month. "Yeah, yeah. 'I am become death, destroyer of weekends.' We get it. Last chance—power down the golems and come quietly."
In answer, Cogsworth slammed a lever. The entire foundry shuddered. Conduits flared. The golems snapped to attention, eyes glowing crimson.
"Constructs! Eliminate the intruders!"
Thirty-two mechanical bodies charged.
Reyes grinned, shield snapping into place with a magnetic clunk. "Finally."
Jax whooped and slammed his ram-shield down, creating a vibrating barrier that sent the first wave of golems staggering.
Lena vanished up a maintenance ladder in three fluid leaps, already sighting down her scope.
Sparks crouched, fingers dancing across his pad. "Sealing micro-rifts… now."
Z simply hopped over the railing, dropping thirty feet to land in a casual crouch right in front of Cogsworth.
The scientist recoiled. "Impossible!"
"Not really. I've got better knees than you." Z straightened, dusting imaginary lint from his jacket. "Let's make this quick. I've got a hot yoga class in Realm Prime at three."
Cogsworth snarled and thrust both hands forward. Twin arcs of violet lightning—part electricity, part thaumic discharge—lashed out.
Z's internal system chimed softly.
Threat level: Moderate.
Ability detected: Voltaic Arc-Weave (hybrid techno-arcana).
Copying… adapting… enhancing.
He raised one hand. The lightning struck his palm—and reversed direction, brighter, hotter, shaped into perfect helical coils that wrapped around Cogsworth like Christmas lights from hell.
The scientist screamed as his own power turned on him, locking his joints.
Z yawned. "Why don't mad scientists ever get invited to parties?"
Cogsworth wheezed. "Why…?"
"Because they always bring the buzzkill."
He flicked his wrist. The coils tightened just enough to make the goggles crack. Cogsworth dropped to his knees.
Above, the golem horde faltered as Sparks injected a kill-code into their shared network. One by one they powered down, metal eyelids sliding shut. A few muttered "pivot to profitability" on the way out.
Reyes zip-tied the doctor while Jax helped the newly-un-golemed tech bros to their feet. Most looked shell-shocked. A couple were crying. One—a guy in a shredded Patagonia vest—stumbled forward.
"Dude… thank you. I was literally about to file an IPO as a wind-up toy."
Z clapped him on the shoulder. "No problem. We'll get you back before your next funding round. Try not to get summoned again, yeah?"
The return portal opened—clean, stable, courtesy of Sparks.
As the last victim stepped through, Z turned back to Cogsworth.
"You'll be processed at Central Holding. Tribunal will decide if you get community service or a one-way ticket to Null-Zone. My advice? Plead 'temporary insanity induced by excessive caffeine and Nietzsche.' Works surprisingly often."
Cogsworth glared through cracked lenses. "You mock progress."
"Nah. I mock bad progress. There's a difference."
He nodded to Reyes. "Take him."
As the team prepped to leave, a side door hissed open.
A woman stepped out—mid-twenties, grease-streaked cheeks, leather corset over a mechanic's jumpsuit, auburn hair tied back with a copper wire. She carried a massive wrench like it weighed nothing.
"You the ones who trashed my boss?" she asked.
Z tilted his head. "Depends. You mad about it?"
She looked at the unconscious Cogsworth, then at the dormant golems, then back at Z. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face.
"Nope. Been waiting for someone to do that for three years. Name's Vika. Chief engineer. Or I was, until five minutes ago."
Z's grin matched hers. "Congratulations on the sudden unemployment. Fancy a drink to celebrate?"
Vika eyed him up and down. "You buyin'?"
"In every dimension that takes credit cards."
She laughed—a low, smoky sound. "Deal. But only if you can keep up."
The team exchanged looks. Reyes rolled her eyes. Jax whispered, "Boss moves fast."
Lena just smirked.
Later—much later—the lights in Z's temporary quarters on the jump-ship were dimmed to a soft amber. Vika's jumpsuit lay in a careless heap beside the bunk. Steam still rose faintly from her skin where residual heat from the forges mingled with sweat.
She straddled his lap, fingers tracing the faint silver scars that crisscrossed his chest—marks from battles long before most realms even invented gunpowder.
"You always this chatty after?" she murmured, lips brushing his ear.
"Only when the company's worth it." Z's hands settled on her hips. "You always this good with tools?"
She nipped his jaw. "You have no idea."
What followed was slow, then frantic, then slow again—laughter mingling with gasps, teasing insults turning into moans. No promises. No tomorrow. Just two people who understood exactly how fleeting everything in the multiverse really was.
Afterward they lay tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of machine oil and ozone.
Vika propped herself on an elbow. "You do this often? Rescue, flirt, fuck, vanish?"
"Rescue? Daily. The rest… when the vibe's right." Z tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "No strings. Everyone walks away smiling."
She studied him for a long moment. "You're weirdly honest for a cop."
"Honesty's my second-best weapon." He winked. "Jokes are first."
Vika laughed softly, then rolled out of bed. "I'm staying here. Gonna rebuild this place without the megalomaniac. Maybe turn it into something actually useful."
"Good plan." Z sat up, stretching. "If you ever need backup—or just a drinking buddy—ping the IDP. Tell 'em Z sent you."
She pulled on her jumpsuit, not bothering with underthings. "Might take you up on that."
The portal back to HQ opened a few minutes later.
Z stepped through alone.
Back at Central, the debrief was quick.
"Thirty-two returned. One arrest. No casualties." Reyes ticked off the points on her fingers.
Sparks added, "Portal signatures scrubbed. Realm 89 is stable—for now."
Jax leaned back. "And boss got laid. Again."
Z threw a balled-up energy-drink can at him. "Jealousy is unbecoming."
Lena just shook her head, already cleaning her rifle.
Z's comm pinged. New alert scrolling across his HUD.
Priority Alpha. Realm 214. Elder dragon deity attempting mass-reincarnation of an entire university campus into 'worthy vessels.' Estimated casualties if unchecked: 40,000.
He stood, grin sharpening.
"Alright, people. Nap time's over. Who wants to ruin a god's day?"
Hands shot up.
The patrol never stopped.
And somewhere, deep in the sealed core of Z's being, another layer of power stirred—quietly, patiently—waiting for the moment the multiverse decided to stop playing nice.
(Chapter 2 end. Word count ≈ 3,450)