[i]Fire and smoke filled the streets of Legus, seeping up the tall dark buildings like hell was rising from beneath them. In the dead of night however, the fire was the only light in an otherwise dark and complex maze. Everywhere one looked shadows and silhouettes sprinted along the walls, chasing one and other in a demonic blood bath. Above all the other sounds of chaos, it was the screams that were most clear; they promised the agonising deaths of men, women and children alike. 

“Lieutenant! What are your orders?” shouted Sgt. Hicks, straining his voice to be heard. Lucius turned to his squad, consisting of twelve remaining officers in full riot gear, who had formed in a protective square around a bunch of survivors. Lucius wiped the sweat from his eyes as he tried to make the on the spot decision. They could not afford to stop, yet they had been constantly redirected in their disastrous attempt at evacuation. 

“East leads us further into the city! South is blocked! And there’s a fucking Hailstone to the West of us!” Lucius shouted back, wanting to make his reasoning clear. He couldn’t afford for them to start judging his decisions. “North it is then sir!” replied Hicks, giving the signal for the small escort to begin jogging again. 

The convoy continued down a narrow street that had once housed a string of low-key nightclubs, the crimson and pink lights of which still flickered to give the street an ominous glow. The street itself was filled with corpses, or rather the glistening sludge that remained; it was hard to tell whether the bodies had been partially eaten or merely trampled to death. The escort tried hard not to trip, a task made worse by the ever thickening air. As they continued down the street the gore at their feet got deeper and deeper until it came up to Lucius’ waist. He begun to wade through it but lost his footing, plunging into the putrid pool. He desperately splashed around to regain his footing, but emerged to find his group being tore apart by Lost. They swarmed from the clubs and overwhelmed his friends. He turned and tried to run but something grabbed his ankle. “Coward!” bellowed Hicks, who clung at Lucius. 

“I’m sorry!” cried Lucius, kicking off his friend. He turned back to run again, but in front of him stood his wife. Charlotte’s skin was mostly ripped off, her golden locks burnt black, and in her arms she carried something wrapped in bloody dripping cloth. Her cold empty eyes locked onto Lucius and she began to scream.[/i]

[centre][b]Lucius Fairfax – Gregory[/b][/centre]
Lucius awoke from the nightmare with a sweat, and would have been gasping for air had he not opened his eyes to find a blade pointed at his neck. His lungs seemed to stop as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. Slowly his ears begun to register nearby sounds and he realised the screaming from his nightmare was emanating from a nearby lady, not his estranged wife. “Hello sleepy head. Have a nice dream?” smiled Vinny, who had already carefully removed Lucius’ weapons.

Lucius didn’t answer him, and instead tried to look past the big man. It was clear that the room had very much divided whilst he was asleep. Near the bar the local families were huddled around, whereas the rest of the inn was filled with men like Vinny, who were holding other outsiders in a similar fashion. “What do you want from us?” asked Lucius, unsure of the man’s motives. 

“Us? Do you mean your fellow slaves here? Or do you mean you and your DERB friends?” he asked, motioning to the shield and the Bluebacks beside it, “It’s rare to see anyone outside DERB with those shields or that many bluebacks. Besides, you’re too fucking clean to be anything but DERB! Should’ve rubbed a few layers of shit over yourself if you wanted to convince anyone otherwise.”

Lucius didn’t answer straight away, and instead focussed his thoughts on whether there was any feasible way of disarming his opponent and fighting his way out. There wasn’t. “Well!” Vinny demanded, letting the blade at his throat draw a trickle of blood. 

“I’m not DERB anymore…” he said, knowing it’d probably make little difference at this point. 

“No, you’re not. You’re mine now.”