Idle footsteps meandered quietly down a dim alleyway, sparsely lit with the gray-white light of early morning, damp with puddles of collected filth and morning dew; the source of a foul smell wafting through the air. Though such abhorrent things were of no real surprise, should one find themselves strolling through the Russel City slums often enough to become accustomed to such things. Especially considering the sour scent of sweat and dirt accumulating on unwashed bodies, rife with illness and all the fixings of severe poverty. Such was the slum life, rotting away in ragged clothing, deteriorating away, reflecting the use society has for them. Where the unskilled come to mope, where the unemployed come to complain, where anybody without a true purpose in life comes to die. Slowly, letting death creep upon them, as the bags under their eyes darken, as their hair fades and their clothes fray. Here where wild dogs hunt, and the Guardians of Motum Diversum do not tread needlessly. The kind of place that the common man avoids at all costs, turning his nose up at the very repulsive thought of finding himself there.

Alexandria, however, was no stranger to this place, though she still did wrinkle her nose from time to time. The air had shifted dramatically as she wandered through the city streets and tight alleyways: From the sweet smells of perfumes, muddled with the scent of strong spice and bodies sweating off expensive cologne, to the repugnant zephyr gentle ruffling the folds of her scarlet clothes. She lifted one gloved hand lazily, letting it drift across the begrimed wall of cracked stone and peeling plaster. She drew a thin channel through the blackened grime, letting her hand trail off of the wall leisurely, flicking the muck off the tip of her finger. She smiled remorsefully, her empathy hidden behind the thin veil of her red bandanna, and the silvery orbs of her goggles. In a way, she was like the people here. Though she was not frail, or in no particular state of deterioration, she felt the burden of being ostracized by society, felt the backlash of fear and pride. No, society had left a bitter taste in her mouth, which is why she found herself once again in the slums.

The door creaked sharply as Alex eased it open, it's rusted hinges protesting with piercing wails. The bit of tarnished sheet metal gave way easily, and quickly enough Alexandria found herself in a room that fared no better. Splintered cracks wove their way across the floor of old, dusty desert wood. Tiny, dark particles flickered in the slivers of light creeping through slight gaps in the roofing, and through the decomposing layer of boards covering the single window of this second story room. She stepped through carefully, her eyes scanning the room for a specific individual.

A shadowed form stepped soundlessly from a darkened corner, ”You have a bad habit of entering without knocking, Alex.”

”What about being late, talking back, and evading the law?” She mused, closing the door softly behind her as she stepped towards the middle of the room, only slightly irritated.

”And sass,” He chuckled, his thin, leather clad body becoming visible as he steps further into the light. His brown eyes watch Alex carefully, always aware of what she is, and what his usefulness means. A small cloud of dust whirls up into the air as he plants one wrinkled hand on an old, worn table by the window, his weathered body leaning against it. He moves stiffly, his age apparent even through his nearly entirely covered body. Only his face remains uncovered, plagued by wrinkles and age spots, his fatherly features enhanced by laugh lines and wizened by crows feet pulling at the corners of his eyes, partially obscured by thin, wispy locks of gray hair. ”What do you want Alex?”

”Straight to the point, as always Eddie,” she answered, placing on hand on her hip as she looked up at him.

”I go by Edgar now, it's more homely.”

”I don't really care, Eddie,” She said vehemently, dropping her facade, ”You'd be surprised how word gets around about the information broker who sells out Immortals. That lead was a setup Eddie, and thanks to you I have my face on every corner of this god forsaken city of whores and liars.”

Edgar's eyes widened, and he tried to take a shaky step back, but he only scooted the aged table against the wall. ”L-listen Alex, you don't understand!” He retorted, his voice wavering, ”I have a family; A wife! Tw-” His voice caught in his throat, the folds of his old neck working inaudibly as he tried to form some sort of coherent defense. His bloodshot eyes stared at Alex, her hood down and her hair rising sporadically from the intense static charge emanating from the fluorescent, crackling blue energy swirling around her arms, arcing between the tips of her fingers.

”Where are the other Immortals Eddie?” Alex spat, emphasizing her words by letting an arc of energy tear from each of her hands into the floor, leaving behind smoldering, charred wood as she took a step forward threateningly,”Where are they gathering?!” Another arc of electric energy jumps off of her arm, curving haphazardly into the wall. Chunks of stone and mortar explode from the wall, cascading across the room.

”I don't know Alex!” He screams, the terror in his voice evident, “I'm r-retired for god's sake!”

Another tendril fires off violently from Alex's arm, controlled only by her boiling anger this time, ”LIAR!” She screams, the ragged table exploding into a shower of tiny, flaming shards. Edgar falls to the ground, desperately patting out a small flame that had begun to inch its way across the wrist of his sleeve.

”Oh god help me!” The old man cries out pitifully, falling to his knees.

As if on cue the metal door erupts from its position, whirling violently into the room and sending Alexandria reeling into the far wall, her forehead smashing into the poorly boarded window.

”By order of The Executive, Alexandria Svet-Yulia, you are under arrest.” A large armored man states, the authority thick in his deep voice as more armored officers file in behind him. ”Stay on the floor if you know what's good for you, whore.” He spat, jutting his chest out as if flaunting the emblem of the Winged Guardians, a golden shoe with its own set of wings.

”You're late, the w-wretched bitch nearly killed me!” Edgar stammered, standing and dusting himself off.

A narrow rivulet of blood streaked across Alexandria's goggle, a wider channel trickling between the two orbs, across the thick leather strap across her nose. The bitter, metallic taste of blood permeated her mouth, split by a sadistic, wide smile.

”The only crime I've committed,” She started, rising to all fours slowly,”Is being alive.”

”I said stay down you mutant bitch!” The large, brusque man half leaped, half stormed across the floor, his truncheon swiftly cutting through the air to crack painfully across Alex's back. Alex's face collided with the floor, her blood mixing with the dust and dirt as the breathe left her body. Another crack wracked Alex's petite body with pain. Emotional, haunting pain. A ghost from her past that haunted her constantly, a reminder of who she was. The ghost of her old self.

Tiny motes of dust rose into the air as an emotional pain wracked Alex's body. ”That's right!” The Guardian laughed,”That's a good--Slave” Greya's voice echoed the word in her mind, patronizing her with the fallacy of motherliness, tormenting her even after death.

The swirling vortex of anger and trauma within Alex externalized itself like a clap of thunder, a bright column of sizzling electricity firing off of her body, smashing into the ceiling and fanning out, the multitudes of electrical tendrils spanning across the metal roofing wildly, like a wild herd of sparks trampling over themselves. Dust fell from the ceiling in thick spires, bending away from Alex's body from the static force of her spark given phenomena.

”Fucking whore!!” The guard spat, tossing aside the half melted truncheon in favor of his gun. Stray arcs of energy shot from Alex's body wildly, with no apparent direction or control. Two of which struck the guard, one right after the other, coursing through the reinforce metal threading of his vest, plunging into the depths of his body. He gasped, clutching as his heart as he fell to the floor, keeling over in cardiac arrest.

The four other Guardians in the room drew their weapons; a combination of well maintained handguns and a single automatic assault rifle. A flicker of energy played across the metal surfaces of the firearms as Alex picked her bloodied and battered self off the floor. The Guardians flinched in pain, dropping their electrified weapons. One of them cursed, reaching for his secondary firearm, as the other three warily drew their melee weapons; each of whom wielded long sword-like blades. One charged forward, his blade raised high. He took three steps before the height and material of his weapon attracted Alex's energy. All of the electrical arcs firing from her body ceased, and became one thickened tendril of lightning.

The Guardian stopped dead in his tracks, literally, his lifeless muscles clenched in response to the current flowing through his corpse. A second later and the heart and pressure from the point of contact became to much, and his smoking corpse launched backwards in a spray of sparks and an audible blast that shook floor until it threatened to crack completely. Alex pushed up her dirty goggles, her pure white eyes falling on Edgar, cowering in one corner, a smoldering patch on his clothing giving off a winding stream of smoke, obvious that he had received a stray strike from her. Though her control didn't last long, as she gazed upon him her anger surged forward with renewed life. Sweat gathered on her brow, mingling with the blood from the dirt encrusted gash on her forehead.

The energy swirled around her again pulsating in tune with the rhythm of her heart hammering in her chest. A distant bang played across her ears, drowned out by the boiling sea of rage in her mind. For a moment, Edgar's face became Greya's, and Alex lashed out, both hands emitting a hot, crackling stream of white lightning, the heat of which set Edgar, and the entire corner he was cowering in, aflame. The stone wall cracking from force and intensity of the of the fire. The wave of heat immediately caused the Guardians to retreat from the burning floor. The one with the gun turning into the hallway, leaving his two comrades with their blades in the room, separated by the quickly growing inferno. It was evident that they no longer wished to try detaining, or even killing, Alex. One of them made a quick move for the window. A blue flash, and his smoking body tumbles through the weakened boards, rolling across the first story roof outside. The remaining Guardian silently drops is weapon, icy claws of fear clutching at his heart. He puts both of his hands up, and slowly backs away.

The stone wall behind him cracks with the force of his seared corpse hitting it. A thick blanket of black smoke begins to gather, bringing Alex out of her uncontrollable rage. She coughs as the swirling energy around her body dies down, a residue of small blue sparks jumping through her hair. She feels a wetness spreading across her arm, and a slight pain. The shot had only clipped the side of her arm, leaving a rather deep gouge instead of a bullet wound.

Alex coughed once more, the oxygen depriving smoke robbing her of sight. Her eyes watered, and all she could hear was the crackling of the fire, and the splintering of wooden boards. She turned and felt her way across the wall, hacking out the impure air she was involuntarily breathing. The broken edge of a board met her fingers, and she tore at the crudely made barricade, her fingers scrambling for purchase. She felt she had enough room to safely maneuver through, and the persistent lack of oxygen hastened her decision to launch herself out the window, tumbling across the first story roof. Her body hit the ground, rear first, thankfully sparing her face from further arm.

She rolled over, an ache rapidly spreading through her body. Sweat dripped from her face as she stared at the ground, her heart beating furiously against its prison within her body. She gasped for air, coughing out the scant remnants of the smoke left in her lungs. She looked up to the sky, still cloudless and pale gray with the coming dawn, obscured by a thick column of smoke. She picked herself up, resentment heavy on her face.

”Fucking Standards,” She hissed, wiping the blood and dirt from her lips. That was her derogatory nickname for 'normal' people, Non-Immortals. She started cautiously down the cramped side street, receiving only the curious looks from a few slums residents, peering out from their makeshift shanties and pilfered crates. It was going to be a long walk back to her safe house, a long, painful walk.

A deep rumbling issued from an old motorcycle, spreading far and wide across the empty expanses north of Laguna. It was mid day, the weather was hot, and most people would be walking around covered entirely in thin, loose clothing to ward off the sun's rays but allow the breezes to cool them down. One young woman, however, hadn't thought of doing that in the past two years. Currently she was wearing an old t-shirt and loose kaki pants; arms exposed and the only thing covering her head being a pair of goggles to avoid the sand entering her eyes. Her relatively pale arms were uncovered, as was her neck and face; hair the colour of fire waving freely behind her as she drove across the sparse plains. A shout, a gunshot, and a frown pulled at her lips and creased her brows. She looked behind her, watching as a group of what she assumed were scavengers came closer to her. They were each driving a motorcycle like hers, but unlike her they wore clothing that covered their entire bodies and shielded them from the relentless sun. Another shout, this one vaguely audible over the rush of the wind past her ears. "...Stop...no more warn...shot...give...stuff..." Great, it was a couple of bandits who thought that she was a helpless woman who couldn't defend herself. It wasn't that she couldn't see the logic behind their assumptions, but come on! To live in this day and age one had to toughen up, especially if you became an Immortal. The world was not kind to you if you did not know how to defend yourself, and it was downright malicious and evil if you happened to catch The Sickness but survive. The bandits came up beside her, driving with one on either side, and one behind. They each drove a good ten metres on either side, but judging by the looks on their faces they weren't going to race her. "No more warning shots!" One of them yelled, pointing a gun at her. "Next one will hit!" She sighed and hit the break, turning her bike into a sideways, screeching stop. She stepped down from the bike and looked around at the bandits as they, too, dismounted and walked closer to her, guns held at the ready. Evelina--for that was the young woman's name--had her own gun still strapped to her hip, and a short broadsword carried horizontally across her lower back. She crossed her arms underneath her modest bust as the three bandits--all men, she could see now--stalked closer. "What's the matter?" She asked innocently, looking at each of them in turn, eyes hidden by the goggles. "Give us your stuff, now," one of them demanded. He was the one with the biggest gun, and, presumably, the leader. Evelina's brows knitted together in a frown once again. "No." "You will give us your stuff if you don't wanna die," a voice from behind her said, soon accompanied by the feeling of something hard pressing against the back of her skull. "Now be a good little girl and hand over whatever you have." "No, I don't think so." She looked at the two now standing in front of her, one of them heading towards her bike for the supplies hidden in its side bags. "It's mine," she continued. "Don't touch it." The voice from behind her laughed. "Not like you have much of a choice, kiddo. Three against one, and a gun to your head. Now why don't you just shut up and take the chance to live, hmm?" "It's not like you'd be able to kill me," Evelina said calmly. "Wanna try your luck, then?" She could feel the man behind her place a hand on her hips, feel it snaking its way across her stomach and slowly upwards until he held one of her breasts. "If we can't kill you, then why don't you stop me?" As if to emphasize that she was powerless to act he squeezed her breast hard, fondling it like only someone deprived of any decent contact would. Evelina's eyes narrowed behind the goggles, her mouth pressing into a thin line. "Alright, that's it." She kicked backwards, hitting the pervert behind her in the groin with her heel. In both fury and pain he pulled the trigger still pressed against the back of her head. It fired, and hit the wheel of one of the other bandit's bikes. The grin that had spread across the perverted bandit's face was soon wiped away from the lack of the expected spray of blood, and also because the girl whom he had thought he just killed, evaporated into tiny particles of light. Before the hammer of the gun had even struck down, she was gone in a shower of sparks and had rushed away. "I told you, you wouldn't be able to kill me," Evelina said from behind him, appearing suddenly from nowhere. The broadsword usually strapped across her back was in her hand, pressed against his neck. "Now stand ba--" "Shit! Sh-She's an Immortal!" It was the guy who had been watching Evelina getting fondled and held at gunpoint. It had taken him a few moments to regain his voice, but her dissolving into motes of light definitely did not go unnoticed. "Acute observation," she remarked dryly, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead and revealing her green, slitted eyes. "Yes, I'm an Immortal, and a healer. So if you'd kindly leave my stuff in my bags, and then piss off... I'd very much appreciate that." "K-Kill her!" It was the guy who had been sorting through her bags. He'd drawn his own gun again and pointed it at her, the first shot ringing out and missing her completely. A grunt from the man she was holding told her that he had taken the shot. Damnit. He shot again, though this time it didn't reach its target, hitting an invisible barrier instead. Removing her sword, Evelina shoved the pervert away, three bands of what looked like solid light materialized and bound themselves around his wrists and ankles. The final one placed itself around the wound in his leg, stopping the bleeding and putting pressure onto it. The one who had shouted to kill her shot again, and once more the shot was stopped before it hit her, as did the one from the other, still standing, bandit. She raised her hand, pointing her palm towards the former. Light gathered in her palm and, after a short while, shot forward and hit his hand. He dropped the gun, screaming from the burn marks covering the entirety of his hand. Calmly, she turned towards the only one still standing. He was shaking, eyes wide in fear and gun pointed at her in a desperate attempt to keep hold on some semblance of authority, even if it had so clearly been lost the moment she first acted. "Y-You're a fucking monster, you know that?" He half said, half shouted. "No wonder people fear you, with how much of a freak you are." "I'm no more a monster than you." Her eyes narrowed, her already piercing gaze becoming that much more loaded. "If anything, I'm less so. You steal and rob, kill and rape. How am I worse than you? I got sick, and woke up with these powers. It's not my choice, but you!" She took a menacing step towards him. "You take from others what they have worked hard for, threatening their lives if they don't comply. I wouldn't be surprised if all three of you had your share of rapes on your consciousness." The man laughed, a desperate sort of laugh. "Oh yeah? And what if we do? I bet most of them liked it. Hell, even you would have probably acted like a good little whore if you'd just let John have his fun." "I don't think so." Where before her voice had been casual, if with an edge to it, it was now a low and dangerous tone she used. "Oh sure you do." He snorted, some self confidence returning to him when she didn't immediately attack, but talked instead. "Any bitch with a pair of cow-like hips li--" He got no further, and didn't even have time to react, before she was in front of him, teeth bared in a feral snarl and fist raised. A shimmer surrounded her fist shortly before it impacted with his face, shattering his nose and more than likely fracturing his jaw as well. ----- He awoke about half an hour later, fully expecting to see all of their equipment and provision taken. Perhaps the thing that he had expected the least of all was actually what greeted him. It was the feeling of gentle hands and slender fingers touching his face which woke him, something he would've only expected to feel from a whore. It was, however, a pair of slitted green eyes and long strands of fiery hair which greeted him as he opened his eyes. Bandages covered his nose and a good part of his face. "H-How?" He croaked, wincing as a lance of pain shot through the right side of his face. "Why?" "You don't call me cow," was Evelina's response. "It's the one thing I won't tolerate." She put the finishing touches to the gauze around his face and stood up, looking down at him with pitiless eyes. "And to answer your questions: Kinetic speed that comes from the result of travelling at 20 metres pr second, coupled with a barrier around my hand results in a very hard punch. And why I'm doing this for you? I like to believe that I'm better than the likes of you. Call it my attempt to lessen the hatred for us Immortals." She paused, glancing off to the side. "Your friends are well enough. I took out the bullet from that pervert's--John?--leg and bound the wound. The other guy I gave some salve to help with his burns. You're all bound in my ropes for the next half hour, after which they'll disappear. I've taken your guns but left your food and water. Good bye." She strode away, towards her bike, and climbed onto it. She didn't look back as she drove off towards north again. She'd heard that there were people in Russle Town who didn't look down on Immortals so much, and would be willing to trade with her, and let her work. She just hoped that they were right. Even if they weren't, she could always sneak in and plant a letter into the mail office. It was about time she sent her parents a new update on how things were going for her.

"Stop it. I hate it when you do that," Sydney said, withdrawing the cigarette from her lips and frowning at the perfectly uniform spheres of smoke appearing before her. She exhaled another breath of smoke, and this too morphed into a ball and joined the others in the centre of the room. With one hand she swatted at the spheres causing them to disperse, and with the other she stubbed the dog-end out on the table between them. "God, Jackson, you know I hate it when you do that," she reiterated, but he said nothing and simply shot a smirk in her direction. After taking one last breath of blissful nicotine he too stubbed the remainder of his cigarette on the table and they sat in silence for a moment. "So," Jackson said in his distinct, husky voice. "How was your trip?" "Bloody awful," was all she said at first. Jackson knit his brows in a questioning fashion, but Sydney didn't offer a reply. Instead she leant across the table and ran a hand along his cheek. It had been two weeks since they had last seen each other and there was a tension between them that was so prominent it was almost tangible. Shedding her leather jacket and laying it across the back of her chair she sauntered around the table and perched on the edge by Jackson. He leant in a kissed her on the lips, obviously wanting more, but she pulled away, cupping his face in her hands and staring intently into his eyes. "Where do I start? The bandits on the second day, the wild dogs in the middle of the night, being chased three miles down the road by some godforsaken caravan thirsty for my blood..." "For Christ sake, Sydney!" Jackson said, escaping her hold on his face. "I've told you that if you run into trouble you come straight back here. Profit is great, but not at the expense of your life." He stood up and left her on the battered oak table. In the kitchen a flame was steadily evaporating a liquid in a clay bowl, leaving behind a light blue crystal-like substance. He cautiously lifted the bowl with a pair of tongs, shook the solution, and then replaced it above the flame. With his hands resting on his waist he thought on what to say, staring out into the sun-scorched streets through the kitchen window. "Next time I'll come with-" "No," She interrupted. "No. You know I can handle myself. Do you see as little as a cut or a bruise on my body? Of course not. The bandits, I beat them up pretty bad, hauled all three of them into the back of the truck and dropped them off at the nearest town. The dogs are all lying dead by the roadside, and the caravan was easy to outrun. Why don't you trust me, Jackson..." "Hey, I trust you." He moved across the room - a slight limp in his step - and embraced her slender body. He put his mouth by her ear and whispered, "You know I trust you," but hardly lingered in the moment, not one for sickly romance. Obviously unconvinced, Sydney stood with her weight on one leg and head slightly tilted as he parted from her. With an unwavering gaze she watched for any sign of hesitation or pretence, though there was none and she soon grew bored. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and made for the bedroom when there came a knock at the door. "Open up." Said a male voice. It was deep and authoritative - Jackson knew at once that it was a Guardian. Neither of them spoke. Sydney's eyes grew wide, but Jackson only nodded in the direction of the kitchen where and array of chemicals boiled over flames and corked flasks of liquid stood proud. Without hesitation she walked briskly into the kitchen and began cutting the gas on the Bunsen burners, packing them neatly behind the false backs of cupboards, and hastily piling the bowls of chemicals and flasks in the same way. While she did this Jackson caught her attention and rubbed his thumb and fingers together in a motion as if asking for money. However, to them this was a signal for fire - or more specifically smoke. "Coming," He called, taking his time to reach the door. There was just enough time for Sydney to finish clearing up and vanish into the bedroom with a small canister under her arm before he unlocked the door and opened it slightly. "Hello," He said, noting that it wasn't just one Guardian, it was three. "Can I help you?" "Jackson Cooper I believe?" The man who had spoken before said. His hair was greying at the sides, his face lined with creases and his expression set in a permanent scowl. He looked questionably old to be a Guardian fit for field-work, which could only be a good thing in Jackson's opinion. He was most likely a long-standing member of the force who had been assigned mostly office work in recent years. If that was true it was probably also true that this was only a routine search or the result of a tip-off that they didn't expect would turn up anything of interest. "We've received an anonymous letter informing us that your premises are being used for the production of illegal narcotics." "Oh, is that so?" Jackson replied with a titter. He moved aside, fully opening the door. "Well, by all means come and inspect the place for yourself." All three men entered, their heavy tread unsettling the thin layer of dust on the floor. Without another word they began to inspect the entire room, but the two younger men were both drawn towards the kitchen area. They opened cupboard doors, grunted at the modest stores of food, and then moved their search into what could only be described as a living area - though it was no more than a worn sofa, two chairs, and a salvaged television that would play old VHS tapes on a good day. The older man, however, wandered around the oak table before stopping abruptly and addressing Jackson. "How many people are staying in this apartment?" "Only myself." "Really?" The Guardian said. "Strange that a man living on his own should have two fresh cigarette butts at opposite ends of a table." He brushed the remains of Jackson and Sydney's cigarettes onto the floor, leaning in to scrutinize the varnished wooden surface. As he was doing this, he continued to talk. "And the bedroom over there, I won't find anyone in there?" "No." He stood upright once again, narrowing his eyes. Of course, Jackson was fully aware that he would send a Guardian in there, and that they would find Sydney underneath the bed or hidden behind a rail of clothes in the closet. Or maybe she would be resourceful, he thought. And the more he considered this possibility the more certain he was that she'd already climbed out of the window, dropped from the first floor apartment, and run to the four-by-four to hide. Yes, the more he thought about it the more he knew that she had done that and they would find nothing of suspicion to... "Sir, we've found a false back to this cupboard." There was a moment of silence before the word Crap escaped Jackson's lips, and then, perfectly one cue, and canister rolled into the centre of the room. All three Guardians looked at it with alarm before a sharp hissing escaped its metal casing and a thick smoke rapidly began filling the room. The senior Guardian shouted for the other two to apprehend the suspect, coughing and spluttering his words, and without a moment to comprehend the situation the two younger Guardians were advancing on him. The first took a swing at Jackson's face, hitting him firmly in the jaw and throwing him off balance. The second kneed him in the guts, forcing a sickening sensation throughout his body and sending him sprawling across the floor. Through a haze Jackson could hear the senior man retching on the floor, and without thinking the second Guardian went to his to aid leaving Jackson alone with the other. He was strong. Strong enough to lift Jackson from the floor and force him against the wall. Fortunately he was already inhaling vast amounts of the smoke and signs of physical deterioration were already visible. His hands were shaking and coughed up bile dripped from his mouth. He took another swing for Jackson, but this time his speed wasn't quite so lethal. Jackson managed to block the brunt of the blow and kick the man backwards, and in the seconds it took for the Guardian to recompose himself he could see the leader of the squad had collapsed to the floor. The second Guardian - realising that his first-aid attempts were futile - now came to the aid of his younger comrade and attempted to retrieve his gun despite the violent spasms in his hands. Meanwhile the first Guardian pounced again, launching another assault on Jackson's face, and another, and another. Through a flurry of hard punches Jackson managed to gain enough focus to concentrate a mass of the smoke and force it into the Guardian’s lungs, causing him to slump to the ground almost instantly. It was then that Jackson could focus on the second Guardian standing above him, but he was too late. The young man held a gun in his hand, his twitching finger ready to pull the trigger. With his jaw clenched Jackson awaited the excruciating pain that awaited him, only to be met by a dull thud, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. He strained his eyes, peering into fog, as Sydney emerged holding a chair in her hand and a gas mask obscuring her face. At will the smoke around them receded and streamed out of the open window in the kitchen. Sydney removed her mask, a look of utter annoyance spread across her face. "What a fantastic welcome home gift," She said. "We've got some cleaning up to do. These Guardians are going to wake up in twenty minutes." "Great," Jackson grunted in reply. Sydney moved over to his side and offered him a hand. He accepted, and once he was standing she grimaced at the state of his face, but made no further comments. As Jackson willed the remaining clouds of smoke to escape through the window she began dragging each body towards the door, leaning them each against the wall as she did so. She inspected their faces, cleaning bloodied patches with a cloth. Jackson stood in the kitchen and washed his face with the warm tap water. Despite its temperature it was soothing enough. "So, I suppose we'll have to drop them off in a nearby alleyway," He said. "I doubt they'll remember much that happened today, let alone the last fifteen minutes."

It always starts out the same... I find myself somewhere familiar. A grassy field; I'm kneeling in a grassy field, not Gaen territory though, it's unkempt. The sky is a pure shade of azure, interrupted only by the fluffy white clouds. It is entirely unlike the orange skies of Dust, and it's sick, shriveled gray clouds. Wherever I am, it is somewhere completely unique and beautiful. I am aware that I've never been here, but the feelings of nostalgia pervade. Perhaps I've seen a similar scene in one of my books? I can't hear anything. I am unsure why this is, perhaps I've broken my eardrums? I feel no pain, however, so I don't understand how that can be. For some reason, I am deaf in this dream. Yes. I must remember that this is only a dream. The sky changes. The clouds multiply, consuming the perfect blue sheet-- it happens in a matter of seconds. Soon there only remains an empty hole of blue in an expansive sea of white cotton. I look down. The grass is black and rotting-- the entire field, now sickly. The wind that was blowing through the field has ceased, the air is still and smells of a pungent pestilence. The body of a man I recognize to be my father lays in front of me, freshly deceased, it seems, the cause of death being an arrow to the back. Looking up, I see the perpetrator. A man on a White Horse inches closer to me, he has brought a fog with him and it obscures his face. I've been through this before, I know who this man is. He is a slimy man, devoid of honor and morals, he robbed me of my sister, he manipulates my grandfather and antagonizes father and myself. Paolo Rivera; mi hermano-- only through marriage. He is grinning impossibly wide, readying his bow for another shot. My eyes go back to father's corpse. I watch as the blood stains his suit a deep red, I reach out to touch him, I want to see his face again. His body is gone. I fall forward into the puddle of blood and black grass. I look up again, Paolo is laughing at me. He seems to know I can't hear him and exaggerates all of his actions, he wants me to know that he is laughing at me. I don't respond. The White Horse neighs. I've never seen a horse on Dust before, but my mind has somehow able to create this realistic creature based on what I know of them from books. I tilt my head in response. Why is it that I can hear the White Horse? Paolo readies his bow again, and fires. The arrow never reaches me. He can never fire fast enough. My sister, Lucina, has come to my aid, taking the arrow in her heart to protect me. She has fallen into our father's pool of blood. I crawl forward to her. As I hold her in my arms, I see her face, pained, but smiling. A tear trails down her cheek, she says something to me before she evaporates into fog. I cannot hear it. I can never hear it. Paolo's is impossibly wide, cheshire in many ways. In his laughter, he has shed his clothing. The horse has not moved. My vision is becoming darker. I feel anger, I feel anxiety, I feel hate. A beautiful, boundless hate. I want to release it somehow, to share my hatred with Paolo, with the fog and the world and the clouds and sky. I want to scream! Yes! Screaming will work! It doesn't matter that I can't hear it-- I scream. Paolo screams with me. He no longer holds his cheshire grin, his eyes are gone, replaced by faucets of blood, his ears and mouth soon follow. As I stand, Paolo disappears into fog. I stop, for now. The black grass is gone. Beneath my bare feet I feel dirt and blood. As I bring my head up, I notice the changes in my own body; father's blood has spread all over my dress, staining it a midnight black-- the flowers in my hair rot and become black themselves, and... my flesh rots. I feel it peel it's way off my face, I look at my hands as it falls to the ground, slipping painlessly like sand through my fingers, leaving behind only my ghostly-white skeletal form. To my right, I see a legion of men riding atop Red Horses in the distance. They carry the banner of the Forsaken and trample women and children as they move forward, men rise to stop them, only to be gunned down. To my left, I see a lone figure sitting atop a Black Horse. Dressed in a glowing white cowl and robes, he softly regards a scale. I look forward, and see a woman on a Pale Horse. This woman... is familiar. She looks like me, but she is not me. She has soft brown eyes, a slender form, and.. this aura... No. She is not me. This is a good person. She is beautiful. Her motherly aura and short hair frame her wrinkly smile perfectly, she seems genuinely happy to see me. 'Mother?' I'd like to whisper that, but my skeletal form prevents me from doing so. She extends her hand to me, from atop the Pale Horse and before I know it, I find myself hoisted atop the curious creature. The woman is gone. The Pale Horse moves forward slowly, without my comand, and I remember a quote from the Bhagavad-Gita... "Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." I look up, and see the same blue hole in the sky now full of black clouds. I see a familiar woman standing there, impossibly far away, yet I perceive her easily, to her right, there is a lion and to her left, there is a lamb. She sees me, I know she does, and she smiles at me sadly. "Rosemary?" I heard myself say that-- and so did the Pale Horse, he begins to rush forward-- I hold on to him with one skeletal hand and reach out to her with the other. There are tears in her eyes as she turns away from me, and walks towards the almighty. In an instant, the tiny circle of blue sky becomes dark, and where there was once a distant sun, there is now... darkness... surrounded by a sick firey ring. "Something is coming." All it took was a light knock at her door to bring Lucania out of her dark reverie. The woman's earthly senses slowly returned to her as her eyes opened. Dawn's pale glow made it's way in through the window that served as the wall between her and the balcony. Within it's view was the ocean, and groggy sun that seemed to rise from it's waves. 20 floors up, the majestic view from the Bella Vista suite was one most men and women of Dust would never get the chance to see. Lucania, while she adored her abode, had long ago grown accustomed to the mundanity of her view. The sun's light, to her, was little more than a natural alarm clock, and the ocean was simply where it went to reset itself. With a sigh, Lucania Castalia sat up in her empty bed. It was a fantastic bed, one twice the size of an Old World King's bed, adorned with restored satin sheets, comforters embroidered with eccentric designs and velvet pillows that of heaven's touch. It was empty. Her bed was typically empty. Yet, the same somber feeling continued to come over her each morning she woke to the empty, still room. The ocean was to her left. The other three walls were lined, from floor to ceiling, with books. The bookshelves were only interrupted by the two doors in front of her bed; one leading to a walk-in closet, the other leading to a rest room. The Victorian scavenged oak wood desk that sat in the corner, its beautiful carved designs were overshadowed by the mess of paper and ink that covered and surrounded it. Two night stands, designed to resemble marble columns, sat on either side of the massive bed; the stand to her right had a lamp, her purse, and a bowl of fresh fruit, on the stand to her left sat a meticulously arranged assortment of liquor and alcohol, as well as materials for making cocktails. Just to the left of this stand, a door lead to Victorian inspired living space, where, from a door leading to one of the Hotel's hallways, another knock came. With a groan, Lucania let her fall back on to the pillow. She laid there a moment, staring at some pseudo-Christian mural on the ceiling before yelling an exasperated "What!?" in her naturally accented voice. There was a heavy silence. She sat up again. It was too close to late morning, it's didn't matter how late she had stayed up running numbers, she wasn't getting back to sleep. The covers shifted as she crawled to the left side of the, this time cupping a hand around her mouth as she called into the living room, "Yes? I apologize for the outburst, I'm afraid you woke me. What is it that you want?" she focused her voice, shifting it around the corners of the room, bouncing it into the ears of the figure in the hallway. The voice in the hallway was soft, but masculine. His voice was shaky-- probably new-- terrified of getting on the wrong side Lucania Castalia, the bloody sleeved maiden of the Castalia Family. "I-I've been sent to request your presence downstairs, Miss Castalia..." Lucania was already up. She examined herself in the mirror of her restroom before taking of hygiene. Apparently, today a single red rose sprouted from her hair. Perfectly positioned, as if she had simply placed an authentic Gaen one there, as always. Fitting. As she applied her make-up, she bent her voice around the corners of the suite, bouncing it and maintaining it's volume. To the messenger, it would have seemed as if she was standing right behind the door, "Alright, and may I ask for what purpose?" "Umm, breakfast, Miss Castalia--" The rose red lipstick fell from her hand as she finished, her stomach growled at the word. Breakfast! Breakfast? She was absolutely famished! The woman ran to her closet, hardly able to contain the excitement in her voice as she replied, "Who calls for me?" "Your father, Miss Castalina, Sottocapo-- He's waiting on the second floor of the grand dining hall, in--" "The Opera booth, correct?" Her mouth was practically watering. She quickly pulled the black dress on, making quick work of the zipper, "That's where he usually sits, anyway..." She muttered, mostly to herself. "U-um, yes Miss Castalia." The dress was on. She sat on the edge of her bed, purse by her side, holding everything her concealed dress pockets couldn't carry. She was buckling tiny straps on the high heels, "Thank you-- Tell him I'll be down in five." "A-actually Miss Castalia, he sent me to escort you--" "Oh?" The door swung open and Lucania stood before the man, a smirk forming on her face as his eyes widened in horror and attraction. The black evening gown was tailored to fit Lucania's form perfectly; a single split exposed a shapely right leg to the world, with it's beautiful olive complexion, a low cut front exposed a teasing amount of cleavage and it's back went even further down, the sleeves were long and flowing, they hid her hands, and within their stitches, they hid razor blades, the signature feature of Miss 'Bloody Sleeves' Castalia's wardrobe. Lucania placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head as she smiled teasingly at the man, "Well then. Shall we go?" The Opera Booth, named so because Lucania's father, "Lucky" Luciano Castalia the Fifth, has never read a book on architectural structures in his life, is, in fact, not a booth-- nor does it overlook an opera. It is a private indoor balcony, on the second floor of the Castalia Hotel & Resort the finest establishment in all of Serenity and Dust. The grand dining hall, is, believe it or not, the grandest of all the dining halls available at the Castalia Hotel & Resort. It was reserved only for high-paying permanent guests and esteemed guests, complete with a stage holding a variety of entertainment and private chefs, the room was truly something to behold. Spending too much time in the hall had a tendency to make one forget the horrors of the world that existed just outside-- or inside, if one considered all the prostitution, drug use, casino robbery, and assassinations that took place elsewhere in the Hotel. This morning, it seemed, the hall was mostly being occupied by rouge Gaen scientists. They milled about in their lab coats and suits, idly nibbling at their meals, some bobbing their heads to the gentle jazz being played by the band. They made all of this possible. It had happened in Lucania's life when the family began outsourcing work to Gaen's gone rouge. Typically, they left due to limitations on research they wanted to conduct. If they came across one, the Castalia Family offered them a deal; they received quotas on drug production, and in return they received an environment in which they could experiment in peace, while living in safety and comfort. The purity of Gaen drugs is on unmatched in all of Dust. From the Opera Booth, one could see it all, hear it all, in exclusivity and privacy. Lucania had only been a few times, so the opportunity itself was something mildly exciting-- Not quite as much as the prospect of a gourmet meal, though. As Lucania opened the door on to the Opera Booth balcony, she could see that the boy who had fetched had been right. Her father had been here waiting. He didn't appear to notice her, he sat at the table, half-way through a cigar, staring out at the band below. The back of his head was to her, Lucania couldn't tell if it was in anger or contemplation. She quietly moved over to his side, planting a kiss on his check in greetings, to his surprise. "Good morning, father." She took the seat across the man, crossing her legs as she sat, "You don't typically invite me to breakfast." The man, Luciano Castalia V, extended his arms, exaggerating his joy, "Ahhhhh! You kiddin' me, a chance for my lovely princess to grace me with her appearance! I relish days like this!" He spoke with an accent, the masculine opposite of Lucania's. He was clean shaven, with large brown eyes surrounded by a wrinkled face sculpted by the wrinkles of premature age, his hair was shoulder length, dark brown, and slicked back to the point that it shined in the morning sun. He wore an expensive looking pinstripe-suit tailored to his tall, fat, and muscular figure. Putting out his cigar, he leaned across the table to deliver two smokey kisses to Lucania's checks. "Ahhh, Lucia, we never get to have quality father-daughter time, no?" Luciana's lips curled into a smirk, she tilted her head and maintained eye contact with her father, saying nothing. "Ahhh, damnit..." He sighed as he leaned back, "She's too smart for her own good..." he muttered with a smile on his face, before pointing a meaty finger at her, "You're too smart for your own good! That wit is gonna get you killed one day, Lucia!" Luciana rolled her eyes as the man clapped his hands together, the manner in which one summoned the wait staff in the Opera Booth. "Yeah. I need to talk some business with you Lucia-- You know we have a Family meeting today-- I need to discuss some things with you before that, so that we go in prepared," As the waitress made her way over a big smile came to Luciano's face, "But first we eat, no?" "Christ, Father, I thought you'd never ask..." The man let out a low chuckle, "My princess? Hungry? Ahhhh, that won't do, will it?" He said teasingly, turning to the waitress, he gave their order, "We'll have the regular-- Bread, pastries, fruit-- all fresh." "Of course, sir. Do you have any special requests today?" "Hmmm," The man tapped his rotund belly, "We'll try out the peach-apricot jam." The waitress nodded and turned to Lucania, "Anything special for you, Ms. Castalia?" Lucania could feel the color of her eyes shift in thought. She could feel them become purple as she locked eyes with the waitress, "Coffee?" "Of course! How would you like it prepared." Lucania's eyes narrowed, "As black as this dress..." Lucania's hand ventured to grab the woman's, and, maintaining eye contact with the waitress, she planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand, marked by the rose red lipstick, "...and as sweet as a stolen kiss." The waitress's face flushed red, red enough to make Lucania giggle, Lucanio merely rolled his eyes, "My daughter the lady killer..." He turned to the waitress, "I'll take a coffee too, Irish." "R-right, I-I'll get your orders sent right up!" "So." her father said matter-of-factly, brushing off the crumbs on his face with a napkin, "Business." "Business!" Lucania parroted, sipping on her coffee. "You know me, Lucia, I like getting the hard part out of the way first--" "Right." Lucania spread jam over a slice of bread, "And the hard part is?" "An assignment I know you won't like." She dropped the knife, immediately looking her father in the eyes, her irises went from happy yellow to a shifting hazel, "What assignment?" "Well," he leaned back in his chair, "You know about the expansion into Russel City?" "I certainly ought too," She leaned in, her eyes becoming reddish, "I've practically organized it all myself." "Well, we need you there ASAP--" She leaned back, her eyes becoming a calmer hazel hue, "Why?" "Well," Taking a sip of his own coffee, the man's eyes flicked around the room, looking everywhere but at his daughter, "We already have women and muscle up there, Leoluca is working on paying off the Guardian's up there, product is in position, we just need to give the new club a grand opening..." "So what?" she took in the coffee's aroma before taking another sip, "You would like me to sing? Correct? Promote it, make sure everything goes smoothy? I'm sorry--wasn't this already part of the plan?" "Yes. But there's a step two now." Her eyes shot up from the sweet coffee, "A step two?" "Yes." Setting the cup gently on a napkin, Lucania tilted her head, "What, pray-tell, is step two, father?" "It's..." The man gripped the bridge of his nose, "Damnit, Lucia, I can't do this..." Lucania's irises became blue with concern, "What is it?" From his pocket, the man pulled out another cigar and a gold lighter, Lucania took this as her cue to pull out one of her own cigarettes, he lit them both, and after the pair blew a plume of smoke into the balcony air, he continued, "It's a suicide plan." She tilted her head. "Come on Lucia, you're a smart enough girl to know who this is." The pair spoke at once; "Paolo." Lucanio leaned back in his chair, smoke pouring out of his mouth as he spoke, "He's playing political, Lucia, but right now he's got us by a vice grip to the balls. My father is basically senile, he'll do whatever the desert rat whispers into his ear, which, effectively, leaves Paolo in charge of the operations like this." He took another puff of his cigar, "He knows full well that you're my lieutenant, and once the Don goes, you'll be my Sottocapo-- So he's gunning for you. You have seniority and blood over him... but he married that stupid girl--" Lucania slammed the table, her eyes instantly shifting to a fierce red, "My sister, your daughter." "...Right." His eyes became downcast, "He married Lucina. I don't know how-- neither of us like it, but he did it. Now he's family, and if he can get rid of you..." Lucina's eyes became a contemplative hazel, "... When you become Don, he'll be your Sottocapo..." "Mhmm." He looked over the railing with his cigar in hand, the same position he had when Lucania had first arrived. Lucania sipped her coffee, "So then. What's my suicidal part two?" "After opening night in Russel City, you'll need to head straight to Tas." Another sip, "Mmmm, don't we have a protection deal with the Aqueous Yakuza? This isn't sounding horribly suicidal so far." "Lucia-- he wants you to take out the River Dragon Triad--" She practically coughed up her coffee, "What!? I thought--" "We do-- our amnesty with the Aqueous Yakuza still stands. This is actually part of a new deal we're brokering. See, the Aqueous Yakuza exists entirely in Edor and Gate's Pass, they're large cities, but the Aqueous Yakuza want to expand, and right now they're honor bound not to attack the small Triads that lay claim to the smaller Aqueous towns..." "But we aren't." "Exactly." The hazel in her ireses deepened in thought, "But then, why just me?" "Lucia-- Paolo wants this to fail." "I'm sorry?" "He's playing both sides. There will be a war either way, but if we attack Tas and fail, word will spread quickly, and the Triads, united, can declare this as an act of war on the Yakuza and The Family. The Yakuza will be too weak for us to go into business with them--my thinking is that Paolo might have a stake in that." Lucania watched as the smoke she blew out billowed into the air. She stood quickly, "Alright." "Alright?" "Yes, alright." She began to walk to the door, "If I leave now, I can make it to Russel City with some daylight left." "Lucia..." her father followed her to the door, placing a hand on her shoulder as her own was on the doorknob. She turned, a smirk on her face, "The River Dragon Triad... They're honor bound by traditional Aqueoun belief's too, correct? If I challenge the leader formally, he'll be bound by tradition to face me one on one..." A grin was slowly forming on her father's face. As she opened the door, she mused out loud, "Perhaps I'll even get myself a private champion or two... I hear Russel City has a huge unemployed Immortal population, I'm sure they'd be willing to help me with our dilemma for the right price...? Oh, farewell father..." Lucanio yelled after her as she sauntered down the hallway, "You're too smart for your own good!! That wit is gonna get you killed one day, Lucia!!!"

-Six Months Ago- The road east from Forbes was hot and unforgiving, especially to a slave. Being a member of The Forsaken was hard enough, but knowing how they treated one another, a man could only imagine how they might treat a slave. “Can’t you pull those carts any faster, you fucking useless sacks of shit?” Shouted a tough looking man riding atop his motorcycle. “I pull you lot out of the mines and this is how you repay me?” No complaints were lodged, no backtalk was given, the men just started pulling faster. They had all served at least five years in the mines, and no one made that long without learning how to bite their tongues. A grizzled looking man in his early thirties stood beside another, somewhat older man as they pulled one of the many carts in their caravan, bound for Harlem. “Do you remember the promise that I made to you, my friend?” The younger whispered. “I have a feeling you will be seeing your son soon.” “What are you trying to say, Bento? You surely can’t take them all.” Sure enough, there where nearly 100 men armed to the teeth all around them, some riding motorcycles, while others simply walked. The caravans were carrying too much to use their trucks for. Besides, no bandits would dare attack such a large force of Forsaken… “Do you see those glimmers of light shining off the dunes? Someone is either really brave, or really stupid.” Around the caravan the winds quietly stirred, “Either way, you’ll be free within the hour, I swear it…” “What are you rats whispering about? You know the punishment for conspiracy, Promos! And you won’t survive it again…“ “No, no, Master Darius, old man Promos and I were just discussing how ugly your mother must been to shit out a piece of garbage like you.” Bento spat back. Leaping off his motorcycle Darius stormed over to the mouthy slave while one of his friends fired a shotgun in the air to stop the caravan. “What the fuck did you just say, you rotten little shit! Bare your back before I kill you where you stand!” “Well, I’m really sorry, Master, but I can’t do that while my hands are chained to this cart you see…” As Bento dug his grave even deeper, Darius was already unlocking his cuffs and dragging him out in front of all the other slaves and the gathering Forsaken, all excited for a good lashing. Obediently, Bento unbuttoned his dirty white shirt and got down on his knees, exposing a back covered almost entirely with latticed with scars from old lashings and the torture he had first received upon being discovered in Forsaken territory. Darius raised his whip above his head, when suddenly from out of the dunes a chorus of gunshot rang out, followed by cries of pain, and surprise. Several of their masters had fallen in the first few seconds of the assault, the opportunity that Bento had been waiting for every second of the past 6 years had finally arrived. While the other slaves dropped their carts and ducked for cover, Promos called out to his closest friend, “Bento! Get down! Our efforts will have been in vain if you get yourself killed now!” The old man shouted from behind one of the carts. But his cry fell on deaf ears, and a heart consumed with a cold rage. In one move, Bento rose from his knees, and pulled his Master’s prized bowie knife from its sheath while he was distracted and trying to locate the source of the gunfire. Putting his Master into a choke hold from behind, Bento then proceeded to plunge the knife deep into the man’s gut. “You whore!” He groaned, coughing up blood as he spat out his words. Bento threw the his keys over to Promos, before he let Darius crumple down to the ground, gingerly swiping the man’s 357 magnum from its holster and tossing it far out of reach as he did. There was no need for guns right now… For years he had practiced using his power in secret, always on a small scale, but he had figured out the principles and workings of his abilities well enough. Bento spun round to check on his friend and found that Promos had already started freeing the other slaves from their chains. With them taken care of, now it was really time to see what kind of chaos he could be capable of. Calling upon the powers granted to him by fate swept, the Immortal summoned powerful winds up under his cart, throwing into the air, before it came crashing back down on top of a group of Forsaken. It was quickly becoming apparent that those responsible for the attack were far from the average rogue bandit group. Despite fighting an overwhelmingly larger force from a position of little cover, these guys were ripping through the Forsaken. Making his way towards the smashed up cart that he had destroyed, Bento and took cover as he knelt down to see what goods had spilled out. He broke open a few crates full of bullets before he found what he really wanted, a box of grenades. “Promos! Feed ‘em to me!” He shouted, pointing at the box on the ground, grabbing two to start himself off with. It was time to test out the one theory he hadn’t been able to test while in captivity. Concentrating his efforts, the windcaller summoned a vortex of wind which lifted him off the ground, to a solid vantage point. “You’re flying Bento! You’re flying!” Promos cried out with joy, rushing over to the box of grenades. “I am the raging storm!” He called out, drawing the Forsaken’s attention, “I am the fury of one thousand slaves! And you will feel my wrath as I rain down fire, to scorch you from this earth!” Pulling the pins on his grenades, the windcaller threw them high into the air, and spiked them down towards his enemies. Promos immediately caught on and started tossing up primed grenades for his friend to bombard the Forsaken with. Bento’s heart was beating extraordinarily fast, and his vision started to blur, but the storm raged even harder as more explosions tore through the caravan. The attackers had taken this opportunity to close in on the remaining Forsaken, and with the combined assault, easily routed the maybe 20 remaining soldiers still capable of running. As he sunk back to the ground, the former slave wobbled uneasily on his feet, stumbling through his steps as he advanced towards the broken body of his former master. “Halt!” A voice shouted from behind him, “We are from the Motum Diversum! Do not shoot, and you will all be given sanctuary within our territory!” Bento did not turn around, and simply raised a hand, gesturing for the Diversum troops to wait. He only needed a moment. Darius had seen him coming and was desperately crawling towards his discarded weapon. “Oh Master, it seems you’ve been wounded.” Bento mocked, regaining his composure as he delivered a hard kick to the man’s side, knocking him onto his back. “Let me get that for you.” He continued, scooping up the revolver. “Hmm. Seems a little sandy. I wonder if it still fires?” Bento cocked the hammer and fired it haphazardly into the ground next to Darius’ head. The man screamed in fear. “Please don’t kill me! I was good to you!” He pleaded. “You were good to a slave. But now, I am a man, and you are no more than a howling beast to the source of all things, for this world has no more need for a beaten dog such as you.”Bento delivered the second shot into the man’s skull. “I do like your vest though…” He added, casually crouching down and pulling the knife from his former master’s gut. “May have to do a little repair work, but that shouldn’t be too hard.” “I don’t want any trouble, Immortal.” A man’s voice said, coming from behind him, “This is Forsaken territory, so as far as I’m concerned there’s no need to… Wait, is that you Major?” As Bento turned around, he stared back into a pair of familiar eyes. “It’s been a long time Captain Thorne…” He replied, the wisps of grey that latticed his steel colored eyes obscuring any emotion. Through the deadened, hard look on his face, Thorne could see the hardships of the past six years. “It’s actually Colonel now…” Thorne said, sadness in his heart. “Congratulations.” “Christ… I’m so sorry, Quine.” “You searched as hard as you could.” Bento turned away and busied himself looting Darius’ corpse. Silence hung in the air for a little while. “You know you can’t come back now, right?” Thorne finally said. “I’m an Immortal now.” “Yeah… Is there anything I can do for you at least?” “I assume this was an officially unsanctioned raid, yeah? Plausible deniability and all?” Bento asked, to which Colonel Thorne nodded. “Spare these men the refugee camps. Give us a ride to Harlem and whatever salvage we can carry.” “Deal” It was near 7 o’clock by the time they reached Harlem, pulling up outside the house where Promos had once lived. It didn’t look like much, but to Bento, it was beautiful. A 20 year old man stepped outside to see what was going on. Quietly, old man Promos climbed out of the car’s trunk and slowly walked toward him, trembling. The boy ran into his father’s arms as they both collapsed to their knees, weeping away the pain of nearly 8 years separation. The Major hopped down from the trunk, wearing a pair of pilfered sunglasses, and stood back in the road as an older woman entered the doorway, her hand covering her mouth. Bento watched the old man rise to his feet as his son helped him walk to over to his wife. “I want you to have this.” Thorne said, walking up beside him and handing Bento a scoped M14 battle rifle. “I remember you used to be a pretty good shot back in the day.” “You know, Colonel, working in those mines, I never expected to see anything beautiful till the day I died…” The pair looked on as a family cried tears of joy at the resurrection of a man long thought dead. The scene backlit by the orange sky of The Dust set beautifully ablaze by a setting sun. “I only wish it wasn’t raining.” A single tear rolling down a dirty cheek, eyes hidden behind tinted glass.

It was nearly a chore to open the door, with his hands shaking so bad. Ulver found his shaky steps to the counter, and plopped down on a stool before he collapsed. The bartender was at the other end of the bar, a distance that seemed to continuously stretch in Ulver’s mind, seeming farther by the second. Ulver pried his helmet off, desperately trying to get some fresh air on his face. Sweat was pouring down his face, his arms shaking uncontrollably. Ulver’s helmet landed with a loud thud on the counter, drawing some glances and stares from the few other patrons in the bar. His hair, with bright, nearly white tips and deep brown curls, was nearly soaked in sweat, and he found it hard to keep his breath. The bartender noticed the grim shape of the man sitting down at the far end, and approached slowly and cautiously. He called from a fair distance, “Hey buddy! You feeling alright man?” He said, concern in his voice, accompanied by some lingering suspicion. Ulver looked up, startling the bartender with sudden eye contact with his fierce eyes. He raised a shaking hand up “Y-yeah” he replied in his gravely, yet shaky voice “I j-just really need a drink, man.” He said, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. The sweat that had started on his face had spread along his body, his back and arms and legs all beginning to dampen his clothes. He exhaled roughly, and started peeling his belongings off of his body, backpack and weapons, and then jacket, until his was in his muscle shirt, stained and dirty, wet with perspiration. “A-are you sure that’s what you need man? I can get some wa-” “No no no no no, I need booze, something, fast. Hell, give me some fuckin’ rubbing alcohol, something.” The bartender took a few steps closer, never breaking eye contact even as Ulver’s eyes shot rapidly around, beads of sweat falling around them. “I- I don’t think-” Ulver slammed his fist on the counter, jumping up from his seat. He readied himself to yell, but his voice caught itself in his throat, with the bartender drawing a pistol from his back, with another patron in the bar standing with the both of them, a shotgun trained on Ulver. The patron was one of quite a few years, maybe a few years older than Ulver himself. Pretty heavy bags underneath his eyes, and a waxed mustache hung from his lips. His eyes were hardly visible in the dim light of the bar, but Ulver could feel them stare into his own. It appeared that his job was to protect the bar, as none of the other patrons, all unarmed, were surprised that he had brandished a weapon so quickly. Ulver stared back at him, his own eyes equally crazed. He knew it would be death to reach for his weapons, so he opted instead to slowly sink back down onto his stool, switching eye contact between the two armed men. The guard spoke up, his voice deep and experienced, even a bit intelligent. This wasn’t his first rodeo. “Now, you’re goddamn lucky we even let your kind in this town, and you’re even luckier that I don’t fill your chest with buckshot. You’ll behave yourself in this bar, or you’ll leave it in a goddamn box, you understand me, boy?” “Loud and clear.” Ulver said, staring intently at the man. The guard didn’t respond, and chose to instead slowly lower his shotgun, setting it back down against the counter before returning to his own stool. Ulver turned back to the bartender, and spoke up, a bit calmer. “Listen, I’m going through serious fucking withdrawal. I need some shit, or I’m going to fucking die. Now, please, serve me some damn drink.” The bartender, who had also put away his weapon, carefully moved to the cabinet, pulling a bottle of tequila out, before sliding the whole bottle down the bar. Ulver took the bottle, wildly prying the lid off, taking a few deep mouthfuls. It burned intensely in his throat, but almost immediately, Ulver could feel the warmth spreading slowly, his symptoms beginning to calm down. “Maybe you should kick the habit, man.” The bartender said, watching Ulver pant and drink from a distance. “How much is the bottle?” Ulver replied. --- After a few knocks, the door in front of Ulver opened, his sight being occupied by a slender, attractive woman, dressed in mainly utility clothing with bandoliers and and a handgun under her arm. She looked down at Ulver from the higher step, almost annoyed that he even knocked. Before Ulver could talk, her eyes fell to his helmet that he had in his arm, and instantly recognized him. “Oh, my god! You’re Sandman! Alrighty, come in, we’ve been expecting you.” She said, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside the building. He followed her lead, as she dragged him by the hand through the building, a Peacekeeper office serving Aspin’s citizens in the business district. There were many officers and secretaries moving around the office, papers being moved and Peacekeepers being deployed, offenders being brought in for processing. The woman guided Ulver through all the chaos, with Ulver catching many curious and suspicious looks from the criminals and officers alike. His sandy dusters and metal helmet drew much contrast from the still sandy, yet cleaner and more symmetrical uniforms of the officers. The woman quickly guided Ulver down a narrow hallway, with many doors leading to many different offices and sections of the building, before leading to large, heavy wooden double doors. The girl knocked, and didn’t wait for a response before opening, with two men staring back at the two of them. One was behind a desk, he was an older man, face lightly wrinkled with graying hair starting from the bottom. He was wearing a tattered kevlar vest, a large patch reading “CHIEF” across the front. A hat was sat on his desk, with a gray over coat was hung on a rack behind him. He was obviously the chief of the Aspin Peacekeepers. The other man was also adorned in Peacekeeper attire, but his face was hidden by a mask, made for breathing in the sandy environment, a respirator of sorts. The chief spoke up first. “Ah, Mindy. I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring the Immortal directly to my office. You’ll have to be reprimanded for that later.” “W-wha, uh, o-oh god, sir, I’m sorry I-I didn’t-” “Of course you didn’t think, you never do. You are relieved, Mindy.” “B-but, Sir-” “You are relieved, Private. Leave.” The Chief replied coldly. The girl left, defeated, without a word. Ulver watched as she walked off, and then turned back to the chief, who was already staring at him. “Take a seat, Mr. Rakis.” “Wait, wait, how d-” “I’m one of few security chiefs of the Gaens, Sandman. Don’t be stupid. I do my research. Now, take a seat or get out of my office.” Ulver mumbled something, and took a seat in the chair next to the masked man, on the opposite side of the desk as the Chief. They both looked at Ulver, with Ulver returning the gaze, before the chief started talking, softer than before. “I’ll get to the point, Sandman. There has been a series of murders and robberies in and around this city, and the people are getting scared. This type of violence isn’t very...usual in Gaen territory. It’s very out of character for this city, especially. Most are busy with scientific research and working with the ARK parts. No one has time for banditry here, and I’m not about to let it become commonplace. Not in my city.” The Chief stopped talking, and as if it were a planned cue, the masked man began talking. His voice was tact and youthful, and very direct. “My boys have seen him a few times. No accomplices. Just one lone wolf operator, breaking in, killing the inhabitants of a house, takes all valuables and then he leaves, with not even so much as a fingerprint left. He’s good, experienced. He’s done this before, and possibly with a group before. He doesn’t appear to have any connections to a certain faction, but the brutality of the murders could suggest the Forsaken.” Ulver spoke, “Well, brutality isn’t exactly specific to any tribe or faction. What about those weird fuckers up north?” The Chief spoke up “Edenites? No, impossible. They never leave, and no one enters. There’s no fathomable way they’ve found their way this deep in Gaen territory. Are you insane?” “I’m just saying, man. We don’t know what they’re capable of, this could be their first strike against the outside world.” “No no, this is either a Forsaken lone wolf or bandit lone wolf.” The masked man piped up. “Well, his loyalties don’t matter, what matters-” “Yes, his loyalties DO matter. I don’t know if you heard, but the Motum Diversum attacked and wiped out an entire Forsaken convoy 6 months ago. Miraculously, it hasn’t led to total war between them, but the last thing we need is a campaign of death taken upon us by the Forsaken.” The chief interrupted. “You and I both know the Forsaken don’t have the time or interest in attacking the Gaens, chief, one lone tribal isn’t going to start a crusade against you. If the Motum can survive without warfare after wiping out a whole convoy, I find it hard to believe that one lone little prick is going to make much a difference to those animals. I know the Forsaken, Chief, and I know you know that. They couldn’t give a shit about one lone wolf. A convoy, maybe, but nothing this small. They probably don’t even know the fucker’s even out here.” “I don’t care if The Professor himself is kissing the King’s feet and sacrificing his first born son to him, I don’t need political repercussions in this. You scout the guy out, find out what his motives are. If he’s a bandit, you can kill him with no hesitation, and keep what you find there along with the money we give you. If he’s Forsaken, or any other faction for that matter, you capture him, alive, mind you, and you bring him back here for questioning, and leave the stolen goods as evidence. Are we clear on this agreement, Mr. Rakis?” Ulver sighed, and gave a single nod of the head. The Chief exhaled, almost as if to release the stress of the situation he’d been holding in. He slid his chair back, opening a drawer. He pulled out a small silver case, which opened to reveal almost brand-new looking high grade rounds. The Chief took 2 rounds out, and tossed them to Ulver, who threw his hands up in surprise to catch them. “That’s the prepayment. You get the job done,how I want it, and you’ll get the rest of it. You know how it goes. Now, get out of my office before my superiors investigate me for association with an Immortal. And make your exit quickly and quietly. I don’t need my officers thinking their Chief is some sort of mutant lover.” “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Ulver responded, sarcastically, even a bit toxically, as he pulled his metal helmet over his head. “I still don’t trust this guy, chief. Immortals are a destructive bunch of mutants.” The masked man spat, staring at Ulver. “Go fuck yourself, bud. I’m the best damn hunter on this island. You need me.” “Why, you mutant fuck-” The man said, rising to his feet. “Enough. Wolff, if I recall correctly, your squadron has let this guy escape three times in the last month. I’ll hear nothing of unreliability, from you, or anyone else in this precinct. Off, to your stations, you’re on rooftop watch for today.” The masked man said nothing, simply staring at Ulver as he walked out, making sure to bump his shoulder as he passed the bounty hunter, in his walk to the door. “I’m off to find this bandit, Chief. Try not to talk shit to any more employees, huh?” “What do I pay them for?” The Chief said, cracking the first smile Ulver had seen him crack during the whole conversation. Ulver chuckled, and walked out, leaving a considerable amount of sand in the place he sat.

Blackened blood slowly oozed it's way down nearly identical flesh, the difference only between the consistency and texture of the two. It trickled its way down towards a hand that bared no fingers, replace by midnight colored talons, twice the length of normal appendages. The creature's breath came out in hot plumes of steam against the coarse desert earth. It was low to the ground, poised on all fours, it's heart beating fast sending animalistic adrenaline coursing through its quivering body. Its claws dug into the dirt, its body pressing low against the soil, unfazed by the sharp rocks or barbs that littered the area. Normally it could barely been seen, stained by the darkness of the very night it was prowling in, but its prey was clever, it had already been seen. Now it was about the combat, the pure primal surge of blood lust quivered through its body in anticipation. It took one step forward, the soft sound of its claw piercing through the packed soil as audible as a gunshot in its focused state. It was a coil ready to be unbound, a tempest of fury to be unleashed at the slightest provocation, not that it needed any. The acrid scent of fear and sweat filled its nostrils, made it salivate with desire. It wanted to kill. Another soft step rippled across the creature's ears, but not it's own. The girl had moved, a cautious step to one side. Her goggles pushed up, her pale moon eyes squinting to focus on the creature's dark mass, camouflaged against the backdrop of the night, with only the moonlight for contrast, providing the slightest of outlines. The creature flinched a step back as the human girl gave of a bright glow, like that of the afternoon sky. It took the creature a moment to focus on the blurs of moving light, how it crackled like a campfire, how it broke off and danced among itself like a flock of wild birds. The creature bared its teeth, a deep growl passing through it's pointed teeth, also colored one with the shadows. There are no color to this creature, just the inky blackness of night. It was like the grim reaper, the feral bringer of death dressed in it's cloak of darkness, smelling only of despair and decay. The girl's fingers moved and the blue light danced between her fingers, skating across her soft flesh. The creature's growl grew to a crescendo, the girl tensed up in response, assuming a low crouch. A sudden flash of lightning split the heavens above, follow by a thunderclap of such force that the very earth seemed to tremble beneath its might, small rock and pebbles blown away by the force of the gale it created. Both the girl and the creature acted at the same moment, as if signaled by a heavily director to begin a symphonic dance of death. The girl shot the sky light at the creature, it howled in pain and rage as the light seared a burning path across its body, a plume of dark blood spraying into the air, forming into an abstract pattern as it collided with the ground. The creature met the girl claws first, it's maw open as it prepared to tear out her throat, her arms folding too slowly in a desperate, terrified act of defense against the large beast. The collision resulted in no blood, no wounds and no death on either account. The creature's momentum did not cease as it barreled into the girl, it dissolved into a cloud of thick black smoke. The girl stumbled back, expecting the radiating pain of the creature's claws and teeth tearing into her, stunned into shocked silence by the resulting cloud of smoke swirling about her as if she were the eye of a gathering storm. It increased in speed, whipping up clouds of dust and small debris around her, encasing her in a whirling sphere of dark smoke. She made a move as if to run out of the tempest around her when it suddenly collapsed onto her body, fabricating a dark covering around her. The smoke solidified into something more, becoming heavy on her skin. She fell to the ground as her vision wavered, a wave of dizziness and nausea sweeping across her small form. The weight increased, the pressure of it squeezing every inch of her body, molding to her form. She tried to pick herself up, struggling to brace herself on her knees and hands. Her breath came out in a hot mist, brushing softly across the rough desert soil. Her body shook with adrenaline, sparked by a mixture of fear and confusion. She howled in frustration. She was the creature. Alexandria woke with a start, her heart catching in her chest. She breathed rapidly, the wave of terror slowly washing off of her. It took her a moment to gather her bearings, squinting against the harsh desert sun peeking in through a partially closed canopy of tan cloth. Alex removed her goggles from her forehead, wiping her brow free of sweat and using one end of her white, dirt encrusted shirt to clean them. She stood slowly, bracing her hand against the warm, metal benches to either side of her. Her pulse returned to a normalized rate as the situation dawned on her. She looked at her hands, wiggling her fingers to make sure she was in control of them. She felt a bit silly for doing so, it had just been a dream after all. Her scarlet jacket, with its attached cloak and cowl, and her similarly colored pants lay folded up neatly as makeshift pillows. She chuckled at herself a bit nervously, letting out an exasperated sigh, both of which were audibly dry. Alex licked her parched lips, the dry claws of thirst dragging at her throat. Her Pack lay next to her folded garments, positioned protectively underneath the beige metal that once formed the seats for soldiers, and next to that her canteen. A few moments later and she was once again sweating underneath her brilliant red garments, though not so much as she used to, living the life of a scavenger one does become somewhat become accustomed to the heat. She smiled blissfully as the cool metal of the canteen met her lips, the liquid soothing her dry throat. Clasping the canteen back onto her belt once more, she walked through the back of the personnel truck towards the canopy, the entirety of the vehicle colored to blend in with the desert, at least from a distance. She peered through the thick curtain of fabric, out across the expanse of dirt and brush. The truck was in a small stand of desert trees, which consisted mostly of thorns and bark. There wasn't much tree about them, not like what The Gaens were growing. A small puff of dust rose rapidly into the air, curling around Alex's boots as she hopped out of the truck. She scratched her limbs, smiling once more at the relief of her quietly popping joints. She wasn't sure how long she had been out, long enough to become stiff from laying on the hard, corrugated metal. She had left early morning, well before dawn. The night had just begun to shake off its darkest layers, slowing changing its way from deep black to sickly gray. She figured she was only a couple of hours out, bringing her back to an earlier thought. She should really invest into a watch. A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth as she walked around the truck, absent minded running her hand across the warm, mottled metal of sand, beige, and warm, light brown. A low 'hmm' grumbled from her throat as her mind pressed the matter. This stupid rumor she was following was beginning to interfere in her daily life. Not only did she have to change residences, although her drab little one bedroom wasn't too horrible, she also had to hide from the Guardians, who had her picture plastered on every corner. ”Conspiracy... Treason... Terrorism... Murder, Assault,” She trailed off, slightly amused as she recounted the list of charges in her head. She flung open the driver door to the truck, her calf muscles flexing as she lifted her little body up into the cab, which rested at an ample height from the ground. It had three steps, and even then she had to stretch her muscles to get up the first one. Not to mentioned the adjusted bench seat, so that she didn't have to struggle to see over the dash. Why anybody would make such a large vehicle was beyond her, apparently nobody tried to accommodate the height impaired anymore. Though it was more than useful for carrying her scavenged goods, and even then it could haul a lot of scrap. The pulled the key from one of her belt pouches, and a moment later the engine roared to life. She cranked the driver's side window down, just as an overly warm breeze drifted through the small stand of trees and brush. She pumped the petal, also slightly adjusted to better satisfy her size, and the engine growled in response. A puff of black smoke shot out from the rear exhausts, one running vertical along each rear side of the cab. The faint memory of her earlier dream floated across her consciousness. She shook it off, blaming the weird dream on the heart of the afternoon sun. Though she knew that wasn't true, it wasn't the first time she had this dream. It was increasing in frequency too, plaguing her much more often than she would like. The truck roared to life as it's tires churned up the soil, its massive weight taking only a moment to gain traction. The front of the truck has a large, angled plate mounted on it with cut grooves in the metal at set intervals, a piece which used to belong to the front end of a train, which Alexandria used to its full purpose without hesitation; by mowing down a very unfortunate tree. It's thin trunk, probably about the size of her waist, cracked and shattered, falling beneath all six wheels as the truck ripped of chunks of bark in it's search for traction. A second letter and Alex felt the truck heave over the tree, her face contorting with a deep smirk in appreciation for the destruction of nature. Or just destruction really. Or perhaps it was just the feeling of owning her very own, scavenged machine of destruction, even if it was mainly for freight. She found the small trail she had been following out here before she had given up, making a mental note to talk to her contact once she got back. She was getting fed up with this rumor, but she wanted it to be true so badly is actually hurt, deep pangs of longing in her gut. This had made the fourth dead lead in two months, and since word of her 'murderous nature' got out, or plasted on streets corners with her face on it, as hidden and covered as she usually kept it, nobody wanted to associate with her anymore. There fear of Guardians, and probably herself. Most likely it was the fear of her, but that didn't stop her. She wasn't afraid to shake people down, just because she was small... She stopped herself mid thought, unclenching her teeth as the truck rumbled and bounced down the uneven road. There was supposedly word of a meeting site out here, though the rough terrain had made the journey much longer than a map would anticipate, she was still only a couple of hours west, near the Forsaken border. And she had found nothing. No trails, no clues, no signs, no nothing. Now the only thing she had to walk away with was that dream she had. Maybe she should invest in one of those ridiculous cure-all tonics. Maybe it would kill her. The truck plodded along the beaten trail, with Alexandria fuming silently at the wheel. It didn't really make her feel better, but not paying attention to the drive was wasting time quicker than just staring down the road. Though if she had been paying attention she wouldn't have missed the feral hound running by, no doubt trying to find its pack. Usually feral hounds didn't hunt until the night, but there were a few cases of them getting desperate enough to leave their burrows during the day. Though the sun was a hot as ever, causing waves of heat to waver in the distance. Thankfully Alex's goggles were pressed tightly to her face, keeping the sweat from her eyes. Baking inside a hot metal truck, in heavy clothing to shield against the sun's rays probably didn't help her any, nor did it improve her mood. She shivered as a cool bead of sweat eased its way down her cheek, catching across the scarlet hem of her bandanna, tied securely around her mouth and nose to keep out the considerable amount of dust her truck was kicking up. An hour later, as the sun reached its pinnacle in the sky, Alex found herself as the hollow, smoldering wreck of another vehicle. Some sort of small, four door car had been set aflame, the metal was still warm to the touch, and the upholstery, or what was left of it, still let off little smoldering plumes of charred smoke. She spent a few moment observing the wreck from a distance, you never knew what kind of traps people laid. She spend another few looking at the wreck, from a shorter distance. From her estimate, she figured it was probably some sort of fuel injector leak igniting off of poorly insulated wires. There was no crash, and no signs of attack. Just some acrid smelling smoke, and two badly burned corpses. Alexandria moved back towards the back of her truck, pulling the latch to let the heavy tailgate down. She grabbed the edge of it, and threw her legs up and over, rolling onto the bed of the truck. At the far end of the bed a section of the seats had been cut away to place a metal box, made from a metal frame and walled with chain link fence. Here she held tools she couldn't normally carry, or had a very selective purpose; like the thick hose she removed from it. Underneath a small portion of the bench seats she kept a row of gas cans, about five in total, totaling up to a maximum of 25 gallons of gasoline. Which is exactly what she was checking for now. Hopefully the burned out car's gas tank hadn't ignited. Most of the scorched areas were around the front and the interior fabrics. She made her way over to the wreck, looking at the burned corpse of the driver as she passed. ”Hope you don't mind comrade, I think I need this more than you.” She said, rather politely, and a tad sarcastically. She had very little respect for people, she was rather cynical, finding great displeasure in society as a whole. She pried open the slightly bent gas covering, obviously the car had one been a restored wreck. All that hard work only to catch yourself on fire. She stuck the hose into the gas tank, and gently coaxed whatever fluid was left out. She was rewarded with a thin trickle of fuel flowing through her hose, though it was a thin hose, no bigger than her thumb. About 5 liters later she found herself stowing away the gas can and the hose, snapping the large lock back into place on the metal crate. She retrieved her prybar from her backpack, now resting on the passenger side of the cab, and nodded towards the burnt corpse of the driver as she moved to pry open the trunk. The gas tank was a slight disappointment, but the trunk was not. Whoever they were they had obviously left in a hurry. She found two hastily packed suitcases, one of which was a woman's. Clothes always sold pretty well, people obsessed over fashion, and in a world like this most of it had to be looted and restored. Though there was a couple of nice blouses, and a few good shirts Alex would keep for herself. The male's clothing was a bit too large for her, but she chose a few shirts from that anyways. The two suitcases thumped loudly in the back of the truck as Alex threw the suitcases in. Additionally she had found a nice watch, two clips of dirty rounds that didn't fit her gun, and a moderately tarnished necklace, though the red gem; either real or finely shaped glass; would fetch more than the two pieces of luggage combined. She had also looted one more item for herself, a small tin can of massage oil, which wouldn't do to badly as a sword polish. The truck roared to life once more, and the two suitcases bounced against the tailgate as the truck lurched forward. Another hour or so back to town and she would find herself the pleasant owner of some new trade, and a hot meal. A hamburger sounded real nice right about now. Even if it was expensive, and made with questionable meat. She was mostly in it for the zesty crunch of the pickles anyways. She loved pickles.

(A woman speaks, she has a soothing, smokey voice, with a slightly foreign sound to it) "Ahh... and she finds herself making another one of these recordings... Why? Was the first not enough of the history of my being?" "Hmmmm. I don't know. I couldn't sleep; not a nightmare-- I couldn't get that far. No, I was recalling this awful memory... and... as I lay in my bed, I thought it would make a good tale for someone in the future, trying to understand who, exactly, I was better." "So, I suppose you could say I'll be making more of these as the memories come, for my own ego's sake." (She stifles a yawn) "I've read my share of books about psychology, and it seems to be a common theme that simply talking about one's own troubling memories is a major step towards solving the trauma associated with them. I suppose you could call this memory 'repressed' then, as in, I have tried for a good amount of my adult life to avoid thinking about it. But tonight, perhaps so I can sate my own egotistical desire to talk about myself, the memory won't go away." "This audiolog is the story of my first love." "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!" The shrill, girlish scream filled the narrow hallways of the hotel, Lucania could feel the vibrations from the shriek as it bounced erratically around her. Her sister certainly had the Family talent for reaching high notes-- but possessed none of the vocal control the sickness had given to Lucania. Had the scream come from any other floor, from any other door, guests would have been disturbed-- or perhaps concerned-- by the piercing howl. However on the 18th floor of the Castalia Hotel, cries such as these were quite a common thing to come from behind door 1818. As it turned out, Lucina Castalia-- Lucy, the Bastard of the Castalia Family, was a noisy girl. Lucania leaned against the wall next to the door, she listened to her sister stomp about her suite, no doubt throwing clothes around, looking for 'the perfect outfit.' As she crossed her arms, her eyes lit into an amused amber color, "What? No pearls?" "No! All my pearl necklaces are gone!! I need them they all go so well with the silver leggings! AHHHHHHHHHHH WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME!?" Lucania gave a gentle laugh in response. "It's NOT funny!!" An obviously frustrated Lucy replied, "I don't want to have to wear the gold! I'll need to change my... UGH... MY EVERYTHING!! Who would do this-- Was it the maid, did the maid take my pearls?" Lucania gave a shrug she knew Lucy couldn't see, "I would." "Ugh! Keep laughing bitch, we'll see how much help I am when you need me to help you find something..." "I'm absolutely trembling with fear..." Lucania's gaze made it's way down the hallway, there was a window at it's end, she looked at the position of the rising morning sun, "You know Lucy, I would like to get there at some point today. Are you sure you aren't already wearing the pearls?" The movement from inside the suite stopped. Silence followed. "Oh." A moment later, Lucy opened the door, as if exposing herself to the world in some majestic act. Lucania had to admit, her sister wasn't much of an organized criminal, but she did know her fashion. Lucy posed, as if allowing Lucania to assess the hard work that went into what she was wearing. Although she was 10 years her junior, Lucy stood nearly half a foot taller than Lucania, giving Lucy an elegant, slender figure. White and Silver seemed to be the colors of the day, and black, but according to Lucy, black went well with everything. The silver leggings were flawless, they melded with the shapely legs of her sister so well it almost seemed as though she may have just painted her legs a chrome color. Recovered and restored from the Old World, of course, not even Motum Diversum's best could produce stitches that flawless. She wore white heels so sharp that they could be considered hold-out weapons and a black tank top that was covered by a glistening silver blazer, one the same shade as the leggings. Pearls were wrapped around Lucy's wrists and neck, they sparkled a light contrast to the dark gleam of the silver. It was as if she was going to some meeting for Dust's fashion elite, and not just accompanying Lucania to Russel City. With a sneeze, Lucy broke her pose and the pair began to make their way down the hallway. "I know, fabulous, right?" Lucy pulled out an elegant silver cigarette holder as the pair walked, Lucania responded in kind by pulling out her lighter and holding a flame to the cigarette on the end. Lucania fell into step with her sister as she put her lighter back in her purse, "You are aware we're going to the famous Russel City slums, right?" Lucy scoffed. "I just feel as though I should tell you now, while you can still change," As they reached the elevator door, Lucania turned toward her sister, the pair maintained a familiar eye contact. Lucy cracked a smirk, "Look bitch, you know there isn't enough time in the day for me to change now. Let's hit the road." For a moment, Lucania shared in the smile, her eyes became a happy shade of gold. As she moved her hand to call for the elevator, however, they shifted into her more natural, serious brown tone. "Good. We have a ways to go and we need to make a few stops along the way, we don't need to be terribly early, but it's always nice to make a grand opening before the grand opening" The rustic chime signified the elevator's arrival. "In my life, one of the things I was never confused about was my sexuality. For as far back as I can remember, I've always identified with the heroes of the stories I would read, the brave knights and princes who would slay some great evil and be rewarded with some attractive princess in the end-- I didn't identify with them character wise, no, in that regard, I've always sided with villains-- I think, mostly, I found myself wanting a wealthy happy ending with a princess." "Obviously I hoped that when I found my princess, she would have more character than the ones typically portrayed in Old Earth fairy tales." (She laughs) "I think mother always knew, she never had a problem with my tendencies. Although to be fair, the sexual behaviors a 10 year old displays are very different from the ones a 16 year old displays. To father, my preference was a surprise, and while to his credit, today he accepts who I am, admittedly he's slightly annoyed at the prospect of the next Castalia being adopted, but he accepts me." "When he found out over a decade ago, he though my preference was the result of some chemical imbalance caused by The Sickness." (She laughs again) "I still think it a tad ironic that father was the one who introduced me to her." The armored limo they drove in ran quietly, so silent that the backseat, completely isolated from the front, seemed as if it possessed the stillness of another world. One could get lost in thought when confronted with the isolation it presented, or even simply just watch as the silent expanse of Dust raced across your vision. Lucania had often done this when she was a child, on trips out to the desert and neighboring cities she would just look out of the tinted window and think. As a woman she had less time to do this, often because she was re-reading some piece of intelligence or looking over some numbers or discussing a matter of business with her father... She had missed this sensation, the feeling of being driven somewhere and just being able to... watch time pass. "Ugh!!" Lucy's girlish voice brought Lucania's attention from the passing desert horizon, "How much longer?" "Well, we been drivin' for 'bout two hours..." A voice from the front of the limo replied, Lucania immediately recognized it as that of Diane Rizzuto. Diane was a long time associate of Lucania's, technically her guard, but only technically. Diane's real gifts lied in her ability to drive and her gift of gab. She was a reliable confidante, but she wasn't a guard, she could be trusted to protect a life about as well as a Forsaken could be trusted to bathe. "... So how long's that leave us Carmela? 'Bout a week?" "Four hours." A low voice grunted. Carmela Shelby, Diane's opposite in all but employer, was a silent and skilled guard. She had already taken several bullets for Lucania and had all the political cunning of a person from Dead End. Fitting, since that was where she claimed to be from. She didn't speak much, which fit Lucania's purposes for her just fine. "Shot me down quicker than usual today, Carmela!" Diane gave a annoying laugh, "I catch you on a red day, huh?" "Shut up, Diane." Lucy piped in, "I appreciate it Carmela." Lucy's gaze landed upon Lucania's own empty stare toward the horizon, "So sis, I been meaning to ask-- what is it that we're stopping in Laguna for anyways?" Lucania's brown eyes flickered into a sadistic orange shade, her trademarked smirk forming on her face, she looked her sister right in the eye, "I plan on cutting off a man's penis later today, so i figured we should get prayer out of the way before then." If there was a level of sound below absolute silence, the limo achieved it. From the front seat came an audible gulp from Diane, even Carmela's eyes went wide. In the back, Lucy held an expression of horror in contrast to Lucania's sanguine smirk. After a moment, Lucy's horror softened and she hit Lucania on the shoulder, "You bitch! You're such a fucking tease!" "Her name was Salem." "I know. What an odd name, right? Odd though it may be, I thought it was beautiful-- I still do, beautiful in an odd way, just like her." (She sighs) "Please don't get the wrong impression, when we became acquainted Salem and I were barely 18, and the relationship didn't even last a year. I'm not still pining after the affections of a love long lost, quite the opposite, in fact. I just think it's important to recall the emotions associated with a particular memory when we relive the past. Blame my father." "As I said before, it was my father who introduced us. She was the daughter of a Guardian some cretino had killed without orders. When something like this happens, The Family puts together funds to ease the suffer of any widows and find work for any children. It doesn't always work out smoothly, but it's nice when it does. This was one of those instances." "Well, as it turned out, we needed a bookmaker, and Salem was willing, but she needed to learn." "Who do you think father dearest chose to mentor her?" (She laughs) "Honestly, I don't think we even lasted a week before we found ourselves raiding utility closets whenever we could, looking to steal kisses from each other." (She sighs again, taking a longer pause, as if reflecting on the past) "She was beautiful. She had this short blonde hair that was almost white in the sun, she didn't like that about her, I recall multiple instances of her trying to hide it all with a hat she was rather fond of, that didn't matter though, she was beautiful without it. Her skin was soft and dark and freckled... she might have had some Aqueon ancestry now that I think about it... Oh, how I wish I could have asked her." "Ah well..." "Her real beauty was how she interacted with the world. This was a time when attitudes toward Immortals, people like me, in Serenity was almost as bad as Russel City today and despite that... when I revealed my nature to her... we hadn't even known each other for 2 months at that point, but..." "...She said she loved me." (She sniffles) "Did... you know... that one of the changes to my body, after my Sickness, was that my tears taste like honey?" "I'll tell you this, that had nothing to do with how sweet the tears I cried with her that night were." "Ya know boss, I feel like we never talk anymore." Diane's voice stirred Lucania out of her nap, apparently she was wrong about not being able to get back to sleep, apparently all it took was a monotonous landscape and a ride in one of Dust's most expensive luxury vehicle to lull the workaholic into an unconsciousness. She hadn't had the dream, and she couldn't see Russel City's skyline in the distance, so they couldn't be more than 20 minutes out from Laguna. Lucania shook her head to further wake herself before responding to Diane with a strategic, "I'm sorry?" Diane responded immediately, "Ya know boss! Pow wow! Go over plans, shoot the shit! I know Pablo--" "Paolo." Lucania corrected. Lucy had fallen asleep as well, and apparently seen fit to use her lap as a pillow, Lucania stroked her younger sister's hair softly, shifting her voice as to avoid waking her. "--Right, Paolo, Pablo, Paco. S'not like it matters, right?" Lucania sighed, her gaze looked out of the dark windows onto the yellow countryside of Dust, her eyes shifted a conflicted hazel, "It matters." She looked back down at Lucy's sleeping head sadly, "He's family. We have to respect family." "Pffft," Diane blew a raspberry, "Says who? The guy's a dick for sending you in blind so often lately. What's it matter that he's family?--" Lucania's eyes lit a fiery red, she met with Diane's in the driver's mirror, "300 years of Tradition, Diane." "R-right," Diane's eyes shot back to the road, "Right. I know those eyes, got it, changing subject..." As Diane thought, Lucania calmed her demeanor and spoke up, "No brave bandits try to rob the limo today?" Diane gave a dry chuckle, "We passed a burning car a few miles from Laguna... Oh! A few minutes ago, there was this group on 'cycles, Carmela was itching for a fight, but they avoided us like the plague, they were bruised up, too." She chuckled, "Someone put the fear 'a God in those men..." "Rightfully so, I'd wager." Diane feigned a hurt expression, "Miss Castalia! Ya mean to tell me you don't believe in the good intentions of the average Dust highwayman!?" Lucania couldn't wipe the smile from her face as she lit one of her cigarettes, "No Miss Rizzuto, I'm afraid not..." "Oh, Miss Castalia! How scandalous..." Diane paused as she thought, "Hey boss, you hear about Harlem?" "Hmmm? No, what's going on in Harlem? A Renaissance?" "A wha...? Nah! Baseball!" "Based-what?" "Baseball, ya know? Like the game?" Lucania tilted her head, "I've never heard of it." "Wha...!? You ain't never heard of baseball? I thought you were like an expert on Old World stuff!" "I never studied much in the way of sportsology, I'm afraid." "Well, where I'm from, in Parkland, the flat sandy lots made it perfect... We played all the time, now I hear they're startin' up a league in Harlem, I'm getting all... Um..." "Nostalgic?" "Naw, I ain't gotta fart. I just feel homesick, ya know?" "Mmmm..." Lucania gave a small smile to Diane in the rear view mirror, "Perhaps I'll mention it in the next Family meeting? We're always looking for more opportunities to expand our legal gambling--" "Ya mean it!? Maybe I can get in and fix a game or two for y'all!" "I'm sorry? You don't play to win..?" "Naw, I'm awful. They called me Dizzy foot Diane whenever I went to play. I just think it's fun is all." Lucania giggled, "We should get you horse racing..." Diane's brow furrowed, "Whut?" Lucania raised her voice slightly, "Horse racing." "What's a horse?" Lucania stifled a laugh. She wasn't even sure that there were any horses in Dust, "They're like these..." Her eyes shifted between brown and hazel in confusion, "...Cars. But instead of gas, they run on carrots and apples." "Whoa! Are they some Gaen invention or somethin'?" That was a good question. Lucania's hazel eyes became darker in thought, "Not quite... I've been to Aspin numerous times, I've never seen one. I believe they were creatures from the Old World." "How is Aspin, boss? I never been." "Egalitarian." Lucania responded without thinking, "But it's clean, and the nights are quiet... Very boring compared to Serenity." "Well, I'd still like to see it one da--" "I see horses in my dreams." Lucania interrupted, "They're these beautiful muscle beasts... I learned about them from my books, but I've only ever seen them in my dreams. I think they represent something poetically dark, like the end of all life... When I hear them, and I see their colors so vividly, I feel almost hypnotized..." Her irises became golden, "They're so... oddly beautiful." The limo fell into a deep silence. Diane sighed, her eyes looked into Lucania's through the rear view mirror, "Boss-- We really need to get you laid." A moment passed, and the pair erupted into laughter. You aren't wrong, Diane. Lucy shifted in and groaned in Lucania's lap as the laughter died down. Diane cleared her thought after a few seconds, "So boss..." Lucania smirked, "I'm flattered, but you aren't my type, Diane." The Driver's checks flushed a pale red, "W-what! I wasn't talkin' about that!" Lucania tilted her head, "Oh?" "Yeah... I was just..." Diane's eyes went back to the road, "I was just wondering what happened back in Laguna, in the church." Lucania's eyes became a more serious brown, "I went to confess to a priest, Diane." "I-I know that's what you said, but..." Diane sighed, "Boss, I've known you for a long time. I like to think I know you well enough to gauge what you're feeling... And when you came out of that church... Y-you were cryin'..." With a sigh, Lucania leaned back in the leather seat, "You're right. I was." "Can I ask why, boss?" Lucania unclasped her purse and pulled out a fresh manilla folder, as she looked it over, her irises became a mirthful tan, "Relax, Diane. They were sweet tears of joy." "Really? What happened?" Lucania cracked her signature smirk as she met eyes with her driver, "I had a religious experience." "What followed was one of the best years of my life-- Although I suppose that's really only what I felt at the time, isn't it?" "Actually... I think it was only about 8 months. I guess the exact time I spent with her doesn't really matter, does it? She's gone. But the love we shared exists in a place where there's no space or time. I love her, and I know she wants me to be happy." (You hear her move away from the microphone, her voice was breaking) "In a word, the time I spent with her was; dreamy." "We had so many dreams. We would get married! We would have children, adopted orphans, of course, and eventually grandchildren! We planned on spreading her father's ashes all over Dust and... Oh! We were going to be Mrs. Castalia, I'd be her Don, and she would be my doll... I'd retire early, and we could move to Aspin! She adored Aspin. I think, in another life, she was a mathematician, her skill as a bookkeeper supports my thinking. It would be safe and quiet in Aspin-- She wanted so bad to see it." "I had already been several times by that point... I promised her that I'd take a weekend off and just go there..." "I'm sorry, Salem..." (You can hear light weeping, for several minutes following this, there is silence) "I... apologize for losing my composure. I suppose I've underestimated the therapeutic value recording these audiologs might have!" (She giggles) "I..." "Before I move on to her passing, I'd like to discuss about why I loved Salem. I think that it is... important. Perhaps just as much for progeny as my own mental health." "She was accepting and open, when she thought of something, she put her all into it-- and when she felt something, everyone knew it. She wasn't just aware of her flaws, she wore them like badges of honor. She wasn't original, and she didn't try to be, she was a truly authentic soul, and I loved that about her. This beautiful gestalt, abstract mosaic of a woman..." "And the sex..." "How would Lucina put it?" (Her voice becomes more girlish and high pitched) "Well, it was off the charts!" (Her voice returns to normal) "Is it odd that, in many ways, she reminds me of my mother?" "Perhaps I have some kind of reverse Oedipus complex?" "More than just their shared slender physique, too. They had similar senses of humor, they were both kind and adventurous in the same way-- they even possessed the same taste in music!" "Salem loved hearing me sing, like mother, and her favorite song of mine, by far, just like mother, was Blue Velvet." "Where are you going, sis?" Lucy stirred as Lucania moved to exit the car, from the open door, a younger, bearded version of their father poked his head into car through the open door, he spoke in a rough voice gained through years of exposure to smoke and whiskey. "How's it goin', kiddo?" "Uncle Leo?" Lucy sat up, "We're in Russel City already?" "Pfffft, already she says!" Diane yelled from the driver seat of the car, "We've been driving in circles around here for the better part of an hour!" Lucania forced a dry laugh as she walked over to Diane's side of the limo, "Is someone not used to maneuvering the slums? It'd be unfortunate if I needed to hire a new driver." "N-no boss!" Diane adjusted her hat, "Just new streets is all, it'll be easier once I get out of this 'Mug me' sign with wheels and into an actual ride, I swear!" Lucania was smiling, but her eyes were serious, "I should hope so." Lucania sighed, "You know what I need you to do, correct?" "A' course, boss!" Diane smiled an innocent strained smile, "...But maybe repeat it again? Just for clarity." Another sigh, Lucania gripped the bridge of her nose before speaking, "Take this car to the parking garage. Not difficult. Get another one, one you can maneuver these streets in--" This was Diane's are of expertise, she adopted a serious demeanor, "Slum streets are a hard sell, boss-- It's a miracle the Castalia-mobile made it this far. Cars are a no-go, now something like a 'cycle could work..." "One that can hold all three of us?" "If y'all are okay with squeezing in real close...?" "Yes. That will work, as long as you're positive you can get us away from the Guardians." "Oh yeah, I'll have y'all out a' there in a flash! I'll steal a 'cycle from the rich part of the city and swoop in to save ya all hero-like..." Sticking her head into the front part of the car and looking at Lucania through the rolled down glass, Lucy asked, "Wait... What do you need a getaway driver for...?" Leo spoke up, putting his arm around Lucania's shoulder, "Just some security, for the uhh..." He snapped his finger in thought, "A little 'promotional event' for the grand opening of the club, you know, just something to let everyone know the Castalias have finally arrived." Lucy narrowed her eyes, but before she could object, Lucania reached into the car placing a warm hand on her check, "Relax, Lucy, I've been planning this for quite a while. It's just a small thing that needs to be done, everything will be fine." Lucy's gaze softened, "Just... be careful, okay?" Lucania moved in to kiss her sister's check, "Of course." As the limo got ready to drive off, Lucania gave a light nod to Carmela in the passenger seat. A nod that in this instance, was discussed beforehand to mean one thing. 'When you get to the club, take care of Lucy as if she were me, don't let her leave until I get back.' The black limo drove off, leaving behind a cloud of light exhaust. Lucania and Leoluca stood alone, surrounded by tall, ramshackle buildings made of sheet metal and scavenged wood. Nothing was new here. In Russel City, the slums were made of the detritus of all of Dust. Those broken, cast aside, tired and poor came here to die and the opportunistic came to try to consume the unwanted. The Winged Guardian's avoided the area like the plague and those that did dare enter were already corrupted by greed and hatred of those beneath them, those they were to protect. Certainly, there was a goodness here, but only barely. The positivity fed into the great darkness that existed in the slums-- one could barely see the sun from it's streets for a reason. The slums lived forever by consuming itself. It's narrow alleys are chock full of dark forces and vicious secrets. Only hopeless prayers dared enter this frightful maw. Those in power here care not for good deeds or priestly invocations, they're as likely to rape and kill you as greet you with a happy "good day." Lucania took in a loud, deep breath of the sour air, "Ahhh! You just can't get that in Aspin!" Gravel and glass crunched under Leo's feet as he began to walk, "Didn't know you were such a fan of the RC ghetto, kiddo." "Mmmm..." She fell into step at Leo's side as the pair began making their way down a dark side street, "Leo, I'm a fan of any place that gives me an unfiltered look at human nature-- and then lets me exploit it however I want." Leo grunted as the pair turned another corner. Even in the lack of light, Leo seemed worn down. His hair was unkempt, he hadn't shaved, his suit was missing a tie and jacket, he was even starting to smell like... the absolute loss that permeated the atmosphere here. Lucania tilted her head, "Leo, how are you holding up? You seem like you might be going a little native." The man gave a long, tired sigh, "It's just been a hard couple of months, Lucia." She placed a hand on his shoulder, the pair stopped walking for a moment, "You know you're the only one I could trust to help me with this, right?" He placed a hand on top of her's, "I know, kiddo." Their eye contact lingered, Leo knew his purpose and Lucania knew he knew, they didn't need to dwell on it. As they continued walking, Lucania fished two cigarettes out of her purse, handing one to Leo, she lit them both. "Who else..." Lucania began, blowing a plume of cigarette smoke into air already irrevocably polluted, "Can make deals with Guardians like my amazing uncle Leo? Or move product like Leo? All under the radar? I don't think anyone could, to be completely honest..." He gave a tired smile, "Damn right." "How much do you plan on drinking tonight, Leo?" "Enough to forget the last--" He paused. Three men approached, all appeared to be in varying states of decay, one was unarmed, an almost certainly stolen 9mm gun held by a belt, one had grossly misused kitchen knife, and another, the apparent leader, had wood fashioned into a makeshift bat, nails hammered into the ends. From behind, two more approached, one with patchwork shotgun that didn't appear like it could survive being fired another time, and his companion, unarmed, appeared to be tweaking out. The leader, the man with the bat, spoke with a sneer, "Did the lucky couple get lost on the way to the gala?" His friends snickered, he continued, "You know the deal, drop it all, girl stays with us, you live." Lucania, as this was happening, tried to maintain a serious demeanor, but couldn't help let a giggle slip. All eyes were on her. The shotgun was pointed at her back, the leader brandished his bat, he addressed Leo, "Your bitch have a death wish or something?" She took a small step toward the leader, "Nooo..." Another step forward. "On the contrary," Step. "I've actually been craving attention from real men..." Another step. She gave Leo the same look a disappointed lover gives, "There are some things money just doesn't replace..." Her hand lingered above the leader's crotch. He dropped his bat, giving a slight laugh, "You think you can take me and my boys?" He gripped Lucania's rump, pulling her in closer. Lucania's eyes stayed a neutral brown as she ran her fingers across the man's check, she leaned in to whisper in the man's ear, "All at once." She flicked her wrist, raking her sleeve across the man's face. Where he once had two eyes, there was now only one. Bedlam broke out. The man fell to the ground gripping his bloody, useless eye. Lucania ducked as his companions attack, first the man with the knife, stabbing at the air above Lucania's head, then the other man with his 9, he tried to draw it-- Leo didn't give him a chance, shooting the man twice with his own piece at point blank range. Leo turned to the man with the shotgun, delivering two more shots to the junkie's center of mass before he could completely process what was going on. Behind Leo, Lucania had already slashed the knife user's throat. As the leader continued to scream in pain, the last unarmed junkie, without any other options tried running away. He didn't get 5 feet before Leo fired. Lucania looked at Leo, a smirk on her face, "You've been keeping the good captain tied up here?" Leo shrugged, "Relax Lucia, it's a secure location a few blocks from here, no one's getting to him before you." "Hmmm..." She breathed a sigh of relief, "Well, then, lets go get him!" "What about him?" Leo pointed to the man on the ground. "Hmmm? Oh..." Lucania's gaze fell coolly on the man whimpering on the ground, griping at his bloody eye hole. She squatted by the man, "We can allow him to live," Grabbing the man's hair, she brought his face to her own level, she looked into the man's eye, "Very rarely in life do we receive second chances. Today is yours, I want you to tell any glass shard neighborhood gang you meet that the slums are officially under new management..." She dropped the man's head back into the alley muck, "By order of the Castalia Family." "..." "I remember the exact date; March 2nd, 2373. I found her, in my old suite, at 11:38 that night. I remember it being warm, almost unbearably so. I didn't need to alert father, or the Winged Guardians, my yell was so loud, I know everyone in Serenity knew." "Someone had raped and killed her." "The events leading up to it don't matter. I've gone over them more times than I care to mention, and it was, literally, an average evening up to a single point. There was a Family meeting I needed to attend, so I let Salem go to my room herself." "That's the point-- the single point I wish I could undo that evening." "That is the point where nothing else matters. This wasn't a gang killing, but it wasn't a random act of violence either. It was a crime directed at me, who ever the man was, he was waiting in my room, waiting for me." "Instead, however, he got Salem." (She is quiet for several minutes) "I've been angry for a long time. I won't pretend that I'm not anymore, I am. Whoever it was, managed to get away with it for this long, and is still out there, and... this has only increased my rage. But it has also driven me. He forced my hand, for years I've chased him, I feel something more base than the void child of apathy and raw hatred towards him, but in a way he's molded me into the person I am today." "It wasn't enough to steal one life." "That's alright, though. I haven't let it consume me, I haven't completely moved on, yes, but I have continued living, and soon I will be able to move on." "I now know who he is." "Russel City, where we soon plan to make our presence know, harbors a an animal disguised as a man. Fitting, that he should be a captain of the Winged Guardian pigs." This may sound rather cliche, but I think I crave the release revenge may finally provide me. To him, at least, I will be his ultimate undoing." "I am become death." (She yawns, then laughs) "I suppose that's enough for tonight, isn't it?" A graying old man, at least 65 years old, hung, naked and upside-down, from a warped streetlight in the Russel City slums. The rope was tied sturdily, if tightly, around his ankles, and aside from from some bruising and the blood rapidly rushing to his head, the man was unharmed. On the street in front of him laid the armor of a Winged Guardian captain. To his left, a man named Leo kept an eye out for the man's comrades. To his right, a woman named Lucania read off the man's offenses from a manila folder, copies of which had been sent to all of his superiors in Russel City. In front of the man, a crowd was gathering. "30 years, Russel City!" Lucania roared, she had a broken smile and her eyes were skewed, one was a bright happy yellow, another was a dark crimson. She spread her arms as if she was presenting some miracle tonic, "30 year Captain Adam Worth of the Winged Guardians has operated, with impunity, and assaulted the women of Dust-- our women! Your daughters, sisters..." Lucania's vision darkened as her irises became black, "Our lovers." "Y-you're insane!" Adam spat, "They were--" "Immortals?" Lucania tilted her head as she cut in, "Sickos? Mutie scum?" She opened the folder again, "Alice Thomas was 9 years old, Adam." "They'll string you up for this--" "Who, Adam? The Guardians? Oh-- They'll come, I expect them to, I sent all of your higher ups copies of your exploits in advance-- they'll come. I do doubt that it'll be to save you, though. They'll probably just want to watch." A sizable crowd had begun to gather, people began chanting for his death. "Watch what?" She leaned in close tot he man's reddening face, "To watch you beg an Immortal girl to put you down like the animal you are." The crowd cheered. "Your citizens want it! You live to serve, don't you!?" She slashed her razorblades at his eye, the man's screams were drowned out by those of the crowd. Her voice was loud, but eerily calm as she proceeded, "You took her from me." She slashed across his chest, "150 girls." she cut off an ear, "150 innocent girls." a slash to the jaw, "And my Salem, on top of them all." She slashed at his groin. Adam's wails grew more pained with each cut, but Lucania continued, with the support the ever increasing crowd, until the man was little more than a loosely held pile of pulpy flesh and blood. That didn't matter though. He was living. He could still feel pain-- he could still feel her rage. Lucania had become the man's death, but she didn't intend on giving it to him so soon. Her composure was breaking-- It had been broken, but as she slashed at the man she was on the verge of tears, she practically bathed in his blood and gave the crowd a show in the form of her shrieking curses in Italian as she flayed the rapist alive. This continued for some time. Lucania knelt to look the man in his one functioning eye, "Adam, do you know what happens next?" Of course he couldn't respond. Lucania knew that, she had already cut out his tongue. In response, he tried, unsuccessfully, to spit blood on her face. She didn't bat an eye. She gasped like a mother hearing a child's first words, "That's right, Adam!" Lucania pulled a pair of shears out from her purse, her false smile died, "I'm going to cut off your cock and balls-- then I'm going to cut you down, and let the crowd have it's way with you." As she moved to make the cut, Lucania thought, oddly, of Jesus Christ. He taught that one should turn the other check, that down the path of revenge only lied sadness. For Lucania, in that moment, that feeling of a weight bearing down on her finally being lifted. It felt better than good it felt like a... catharsis. The adrenaline continued to pump through her body as she felt an array of emotions associated with vengful closure. In that moment, revenge solved everything. Her voice cracked with the flow of the moment, she addressed the crowd, "This!" She raised the bloody phallus, "Is what happens to those who wrong you! Who wrong us!" Tears streamed down her checks, "Not just the Winged Guardians, I will personally bring death to any figlio di troia who crosses the Castalia Family!" Leo sighed, tossing his cigarette on the ground he placed a free hand on Lucania's shoulder, "It's time to go, kiddo." "No!" Her voice boomed, she punched Adam's unconscious body, "I want this brutto figlio di puttana bastardo to feel the salt of every tear he has caused in his wounds!" Leo didn't give her a chance. Wordlessly, he hoisted the bloody heiress over his shoulder as she cried, beating fruitlessly at his back. "Cazzo! Cazzo! Porco dio! Ti ammazzo! Che te pozzino ammazzÃÂ!! Dio cane! Sti cazzo porca miseria!!!" As the pair left, the crowd fell upon the horribly mutilated Adam Worth. ~~~

A freshly cleaned 357 revolver and one bullet lay on the table next to a small bag of opioids and a bottle of moonshine. A few stray pills were scattered across the table, and the bottle was half empty. Slamming a glass down on the table, Bento shrugged off the harsh taste of the local rotgut. Retrieving a gold pocketwatch from his vest he checked the time; it was 1:38 in the afternoon. What an awful time, he mused, taking up his revolver, putting the bullet in the wheel and spinning it haphazardly. He flicked it home and cocked back the hammer before laying the barrel to rest against his head, pointed at his skull. “Since the beginning of time all things have moved according to the necessity dictated by their cause.” He muttered to himself, reciting his understanding of the world in a way that almost resembled a prayer. “My body and mind are affected by, and affect in turn, the flow of the cosmic whole. The substance from which my form is manifested, that whose essence is expressed in infinitely many ways, I call you God. This substance, God, by which all of existence is determined according to it’s nature, is supremely perfect.” Adrenaline pumped faster and faster through his veins in anticipation… His mind was swimming from all the drugs and alcohol, and tears ran down his tormented face as he forced the words through painful sobs. “To this nature I am beholden, to this God I surrender.” Breathing heavily, the Immortal teetered on the edge of existence, testing fate, staring deep into the abyss. He finally understood what it meant to be alive as he counted down: 3, 2, 1… Everything went black, and for one, perfect moment there was nothing. In the next, he was on the floor, screaming. Not the controlled screams of rage, but the terrified, erratic screaming of a man whose fate it was to endure his curse, and his gift. He threw himself up from the floor, gun still in hand and spun back to the table. He screamed again, pulled the hammer back once more and fired, sending a bullet smashing through the bottle as it shattered into pieces. He dropped the gun on the floor and breathed in deeply, over and over, slowly regaining his composure. He calmly returned to the table, picked up his glass and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. He noticed that his hands had been shaking the whole time. He sank back into his chair and held his head in his hands for a long time. Tears ran down his face once more, this time silent and needless; what good did these tears achieve? He had touched the void, and it had been beautiful, but now he was back. Now he had to keep moving. Exhaling sharply, Bento shook his head as he stood and crossed the room to grab his belt, then strap it around his waist. Returning to the table, he scooped his gun off the floor before he loaded and holstered the weapon. He needed a new purpose, one that was real. The task of finding one in such a meaningless world, in such a meaningless city was daunting, but at least it had been a while since he had sprung for good whiskey… That would do for now. Bento sat alone at a table in the corner just listening to the band as the bartender poured another couple of fingers into his glass. Bento pulled out his watch to check the time; it was 3:20. “Just leave the bottle.” The Windcaller grunted, as he tossed a handful of dirty 9mm rounds on the table. A couple of minutes later a dirty looking man approached the table, his own empty glass in hand, presumably jonesing for some whiskey. “I’m not in the mood.” Bento spat. “Aww, come on, man! I’ve got an ear to the ground ‘round here… I’ve got good info, man…” “Fucking try me…” The Immortal responded, tossing the contents of his glass down his throat. “Well don’t you tell nobody I told you this…” The man whispered, taking a seat as he did. “But surely you’ve heard about all the crack downs on Immortals lately? Get this… Rumor has it they’re all gathering around Regal Rock out to the east and-“ “You think I haven’t heard this bullshit before?” Bento interrupted, pulling his gun and placing it on the table with a thud. “Try again…” “Jesus Christ, man! Okay! I heard there’s been a bunch of murders up in Gaen territory. Got everyone scrablin’ around, ain’t nobody know what to do with themselves. Huh?” The Major poured himself another glass and tipped the bottle over to offer a splash in the old man’s glass “Here’s what that’s worth… Now give me something other than cheap gossip or we’re done.” “Aight, listen up then… Rumor has it the Castalia Family is making a grab for Russell City.” “What did I say about rumors?” “No, no… I saw it with my own eyes, they’re shipping the drugs in from Serenity, hiring muscle and girls for this new club they’re opening up. I hear they even got the Wings busting up the little guys… They fuckin’ hit my gas guy this mornin’ and that’s why I need this booze, man. Come on, I’m beggin’ you…” The man started pleading. Bento tipped the bottle and poured the man two fingers worth before carefully transferring the contents of the bottle into an empty flask in one of his vest pockets. “Dear God, thank you…” The stranger said, greedily sucking down the whiskey. Bento returned the flask to his pocket and examined the remainder of the bottle. There was still enough to get some more out of the guy if he played his cards right. He was still pretty messed up from earlier though, and while the drinking had calmed his nerves, it wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of mental clarity. There was no doubt the city’s rougher elements would be focused on the arrival of the Castalia’s, at least until things settled down and all the blood had dried. The real question was whose blood would be spilled, and whose hands it would be on, and whose side would he take? When it came down to it, the lives of a killer and a gambler were not too different. You never play a hand you can’t win, but when you’ve got an easy mark, or bullets in your pocket, you take ‘em for all they’re worth… “The rest of the bottle for everything you know about the Castalia Family operation.” For the first time in weeks, a sly smile spread across the Windcaller’s lips. In the background the band started playing a familiar song.

Not much happened for the next few hours after she was so rudely interrupted by the bandits, except for one moment where she drove past what looked to be the burnt out remnants of a car. Had she been a scavenger, there was no doubt that she'd have jumped at the chance to take whatever was there, but such was not her trade. T'was as true as anything that scavenging was as normal as being a merchant in Dust, but even then she was not comfortable taking something from someone's corpse. It felt wrong, almost as if the glazed-over eyes of the deceased were judging you without ever looking at you. She didn't know whether to chalk it up to the judgement she saw in the eyes of those who realised that she could not help them, and blamed her for their dying. It didn't make sense, of course, but judgement was a sore spot for her, regardless of why she was being judged. Her lips pursed in thought. She really did need to get past her teen years. That kind of judgement was long past, and the reason for it had become something that most people were envious of, one way or the other. That got a small smile out of her. To think that something which had caused her early teens to be a nightmare was now something that most people she knew could only wish for? She chuckled, the sound lost in the wind rushing past her face as she drove onwards. Irony at its finest, is what it was. Speaking of my teens, I wonder how mom & dad are? I haven't been able to visit in the last year. Damn security was tightened so I couldn't sneak in. She held the steer of her motorbike with only one hand as she patted a pocket on her old jeans. At least I can still send them letters. Only a matter of time until—Ah! Dirty roofs rose in the distance, seeming to rise up from the ground like a sprout, taking its first forage into the sun and air above ground. It wasn't a pretty sprout, however, given the copious amounts of dust covering everything from cellar to loft, not to mention the ceiling and every wall in the entire city. Russell Town was far from pretty, but nothing in this world could truly be called pretty, even most men and women were calloused and lined with age all to early. That was in the best of cases, the worst were those who ended up with scars all over from fights in the slums or confrontations with the Wings—the Winged Guardians, that is. Still, it was a city, and one of the largest in the entirety of Dust, and as such one might consider it just a tad bit more beautiful than the rest. I would still have loved to see Venedi or Okinawa before the Fall, Evelina thought as she stopped her bike and hopped off of it a good kilometre away from the city. She was far enough away that whatever guards patrolled the outer perimeters of the city wouldn't notice her, which was just what she wanted. She pulled the bike into a small forest of cacti—consisting of all of eight of the stab-happy plants, and let it lean against one of them. She then pulled a camouflage net out from one of her bike's bags and threw it over the machine. She nodded, satisfied that it was as giid as invisible from a distance. Grabbing her bag with the guns and ammo she had taken from the bandits earlier, as well as some of her own bartering items and whatever water and food she had left, and the letter, she left the cluster of cacti behind, heading for good old Russell Town. ----- Evelina rushed around the corner and pressed herself against the wall, immediately calling upon the light around her, forcing it to bend around her. The Wing came rushing past her, stopping only a metre or two away from her, looking around suspiciously, even staring right at her one moment. She was almost too afraid to breathe as the Wing grumbled something about damn smugglers and "kids being too fast these days." Her entry into the city hadn't expected gone quite as expected. It had been her hope that she could have just walked in without a fuss, perhaps having to bluff her way past if things went south. This, however, she hadn't expected. The Wing had wanted to check her back, to which she had obliged. That was her first mistake. He saw the handful of guns and about twice the number of magazines filled primarily with dirty rounds, but a total of perhaps three or four high grade rounds in all of them together, and he had immediately assumed that she was a weapon smuggler. Her second mistake was saying that no, she wasn't. She had taken them from three other guys whom she had apprehended earlier that day, at which point he accused her of being a thief and robber; even a bandit, she thought she'd heard. That was when she tried to actually bluff her way past him, saying that she was working for his Commanding Officer, and was here to do see if there were any of the Winged Guardians slacking off. And that was when he'd started trying to apprehend her for lying, smuggling, theft, and burglary, as well as banditry. Coincidentally, that's also when she started running. That was a good fifteen minutes ago now, and she had only just managed to shake him off. He hadn't asked her to take off her goggles, so he didn't know of her being an Immortal—something for which she was extremely grateful—nor did he seem very interested in Immortals in general. Most would question why she insisted on keeping her goggles on, but he was more interested in the guns. Greedy old coot. Bet he wanted them for himself. She waited there, pressed up against the wall, for several minutes after the Wing had left before she felt it was safe to move again. She let out a breath in tandem with letting the light around her resume its usual behaviour, rendering her visible again. A breezy laugh escaped past her lips; elated. "That was a bit clo—" A sound from somewhere not so far away made her stop. It wasn't the normal hustle and bustle of the slums. It sounded like a large group of people, and someone shouting at said group of people; she could't quite hear what was being shouted—Not two seconds passed before her curiosity got the better of er, and she was headed for the spectacle. She wasn't prepared for what she saw. She arrived just in time to hear a young and—admittedly—beautiful woman shouting at the crowd, condemning a man hanging upside down without a shred of clothing, for rapes and murders. "You're insane! They were—" "Immortals? Sickos? Mutie Scum? Alice Thomas was nine years old, Adam." WHAT?! It was all Evelina could do not to immediately deliver a crushing blow to this Adam's face. Her fists clenched almost involuntarily, as did she tighten her jaw until it hurt. She couldn't let herself be known right now. In the middle of so many people it was far too dangerous to reveal herself as being an Immortal. Speaking of.. She studied the young woman currently cutting deep lacerations in Adam's body—she ignored the screams—trying to get a good look at her face. There! A flicker of red and yellow caught her attention. There was no mistaking it, this woman was an Immortal just like herself. She paid little attention to this Adam getting cut up, instead scrutinizing this... whoever she was. It was clear to Evelina that this wasn't just meting out justice for a decrepit man, but something far more personal. The vengeful look, the muttered curses in-between loud exclamations. The show was soon over, with Adam still hanging there with blood flowing from his body in several rivulets. It was far from a pretty sight, but if he would rape and murder small girls and young women, only because they were Immortal... He deserved none of her care. To hell with her oath. This was one time where she would refuse any aid. There was, however, one person she thought could use a bit of help. Or perhaps it was her own curiosity making her believe that. The Immortal Woman had left Adam hanging and headed somewhere else. Evelina followed a good ways behind, having entered the shadows of the buildings and bent the light around her again. Thanks to the heavy shadows she could move, albeit slowly, while invisible. Her destination ended up being an old bar—or club—called the Bitches' Brew. It was... seedy, is what she'd call it. Plenty of people who looked clueless about one thing or another, and more than a few sitting on barstools and around tables, sipping at their brightly coloured drinks. Her target was sitting on one such barstool, a glass with some indiscernible liquid in front of her. She looked none the worse for wear, but Evelina had a sneaking suspicion that such was not the case. Her invisibility dropping—no one seemed to notice one more person suddenly appearing from the general vicinity of the door—she made her way over to a adjacent stool, sitting down on it with a 'pomf'. She might've grunted something about her posterior being too big had it not been for the serious and sombre feeling in her gut. A small handful of dirt rounds, and a few words later, and Evelina sat with her own glass of brightly coloured... something. It didn't smell all that good, so she hoped it was just like medicine: Smells foul, tastes better. Taking a sip she discovered that it was exactly like medicine. Right down to the lie of it tasting better than it smells. She forced it down, however, not wanting to spew it all over the table. She set the glass down and turned her head slightly, allowing her to glance at the younger—she assumed—woman through the filtered lenses of her goggles. "You okay?" She asked. A simple question, nothing intrusive, but so very, very loaded with more questions.

"Cazzo! Cazzo!!! Put me down you fucking pig!" Lucania's hair was plastered to her skin in equal parts by her own honeyed tears as well as the blood of Adam Worth. Her dress sagged with the weight of his drying gore and her body was limp with fatigue. For a while after Leo had extracted her against her will, she had been struggling with all the resistance her body could put up. It was never quite enough to escape, though, she had wanted nothing more than to break his grip on her and run back to Adam, she needed him to feel more pain. She had waited years for this moment, to have it robbed from her was an absolute injustice. Still, the simple fact of the matter was that she had tired herself out with that public display, her arms were like the peach-apricot jelly she had been spreading over toast not 12 hours prior to this moment, she couldn't beat at her uncle's back. The simple fact of the matter was that Leoluca was much stronger than she was-- and in that moment, he was the only one who could protect Lucania from herself. He knew that, and as Lucania's composure returned to her, she realized it, too. The woman's sweat mixed with Adams blood as she lay draped across Leo's shoulder, she was physically and emotionally spent, her eyes, obscured by the hair that hung over them, were a pained blue, and bloodshot. The copper melded into Lucania's flowery scent and blended well into the sick smell of Russel City slums. With each crunching step, Leo took the two further into the darkened alleys that defined this area of the city. They were far away from the man by now. Lucania could spot no familiar landmarks whenever she summoned the energy to lift her head and gaze about the oppressive hovel. Just sad looking men and women milling about their squalid ratholes, most of them paying the odd pair no mind. As the drying gestalt liquids continued to soak into the ragged clothes Leo wore, he made another turn. Lucania recognized this street, her eyes darted about, eager to absorb any details she could recognize. She became calm enough to have something click in her mind-- he wasn't taking her to the Bitches Brew-- he was just walking in circles. Lucania became more limp, still, her panting before, loud enough to be heard sever feet away, became mousy. Soon, the only sounds were those of the tired thuds Leo made with each step and the interactions of neighbors, friends, and businesses in the surrounding ghetto. Dio... He's doing the thing he did to calm me down when I was five... Lucania's eyes narrowed. Her body wasn't dry, but her tears were-- She couldn't break free through strength, but that didn't matter. She had her voice, her voice was strong. Her body began to shake. With his free hand, Leo took a drag of a bent cigarette, he released the puff of smoke into the soiled air with a sigh, "So..." Lucania inhaled deeply, the air filled her lungs and felt as though it washed through her soul. Her voice was still strong, she could get out of this. Leo knew her better than that. Responding with the practiced speed of a profession, Leo threw the woman on her back without hesitation. He followed almost instantly, kneeling over her, his hand covering her mouth-- his bent cigarette hadn't left his own. Throwing the blunt on the ground, he blew the smoke in her face before continuing, "...You ready to start acting like a fucking adult?" Lucania's eyes were wide, she needed a few seconds to register what just happened, the speed of it all made the pain linger with the surprise. The air had been knocked from her lungs and she couldn't respond with anything more than a muffled 'Mpfff!!' Using her Scream was out of the question. All she could do was... think. Perhaps she had been trying hardest to avoid that. Leoluca's expression was stone. For the first time since her arrival in Russel, she had been forced to look at him, eye to eye, and not simply through him, as she was used to doing with most people. He was unkempt and tired, she had seen that, but she hadn't observed it this closely. He wasn't just scruffy, he was outright bedraggled. His hair looked like that of a man who drifted from fight to fight, his beard looked like it had chunks ripped out. The most powerful thing she saw were his eyes, though. They were the classic Castalia brown, but they were sunken, dragged down by dark bags, and seemed to convey an inherent sadness. He was supposed to be the carefree younger brother, the on who he had chosen to cast aside his claim to leadership in the Family in favor of his mutant nephew. He was like another father to her, and she had cast him here, to muck through her dirty work for her, and he did it, without complaint. The city was wearing him down, but he persevered-- she had done that to him, ripped him away from his life and forced him to act as nothing more than a pawn of Familial conquest and her own revenge. The worst part was, in his glassy eyes, she could see her own reflection. She hadn't even been in Russel City a day, and already she was worse for wear than Leo. The plastered hair, the bloodshot eyes, she hadn't even been here 2 hours, and already the entropic nature of Russel City had broken her down. You were arrogant. She had been. She had made the false assumption that she was above her emotions, that she could operate as an unfeeling arbiter of death and personal revenge. Part of her felt satisfied by it all, part of her replayed the flaying over and over again, another part was... There are no parts of you. There is only you. Leo tentatively removed his hand from her mouth. He gaze was less harsh, his weary eyes were filled with concern, he was well aware what the blue in her eyes meant. He cleared his throat before speaking. "...What happened back there? You alright?" Lucania moved to sit up against the side of some building, the deformed child of a tin shack and a skyscraper. Leo continued to kneel at her side, and again, after a moment their eyes met. Leo's enervated eyes meeting with Lucania's. As they filled with tears, she threw herself around him, crying hard as she buried her face in his shoulder. At first, Leo's eyes became wide in a surprise of his own, before soon after softening along with his expression, "Shhh. Shhhh. Shhh." He cooed, "It's alright baby girl, everything's alright..." They were making a scene, but that didn't matter. In a city built on death and lies, it was refreshing for a scene as sweet as what appeared to be a father embracing a traumatized daughter. For a time the pair sat there, Lucania crying, Leo calming her as he stroked her hair. The rose had begun to wilt. "Come on kiddo. Let's get you cleaned up, huh?" Lucania sat at the smokey bar of the Bitches Brew. The room was golden-- in more ways than one, filled with low level Castalia boys and the windswept patrons of the slums. No doubt intrigued in anything with the Castalia name stamped on it after her show an hour prior. They shelled out their hard-earned (or perhaps stolen) bullets, all gleaming a dull gold as they left the shaky hands of customers. They were rewarded with a a dull golden liquid in return, Castalia Bootlegged Moonshine™-- even at half price they paid too much for the false nectar. They didn't care. They knew why they were here. It didn't matter if it was gold or fool's gold, a drink always helped you forget. The dimmly lit room itself glowed with a false gold. The floors were a zigzagging pattern of black and gold, golden velvet curtains lined the wall. Lucania had always found the design a tad unnerving, the only thing that didn't have the false gold of crushed hopes was the brown of the bar and the scattered scavenged tables. And, she supposed, the customers themselves. Lucania herself was about as far away from feeling golden as possible. Was it possible to reach that point? She took a sip of her beverage. Leo was gone-- he was either with his wife, a group of call girls, or getting drunk. Knowing the nature with which the man usually approached life, he was probably trying all three at once. Diane and Lucy were off getting high somewhere. Carmela was... somewhere? Probably looking for anyone who might try anything tonight. Lucania would need to remember to remind herself to pay Carmela extra for that. She looked around the club. Everyone seemed to be talking to someone else. Lucania felt the isolation weigh down on her body. She took another sip. Feeling the burn as it made it's way down her throat. Somewhere, on an unseen stage, an esoteric jazz filled the air, air already saturated with smoke and muffled conversations, but the melodies maintained their dominance. Lucania could see her reflection in her glass. Leo hadn't lied, she cleaned up nicely, even after her breakdown. They had talked on the way to the club. Not about anything in particular, just whatever came up-- part distraction, and part acceptance. In her other hand, she held a black rotted rose, she plopped the dead flower in her drink and took another small sip. She had gone with another black evening gown to wear-- sleeveless. Her hair was in order, where the rose had left her hair, there were now three lavender chrysanthemums. Her face was clean of the stained make-up and blood of earlier-- her eyes, no longer bloodshot, were brown. A contemplative brown-- pretty, but not quite Castalia brown. In the right light, a fool could mistake Castalia brown for gold. She raised her glass to her lips, contemplating if she should take another sip or not. She hesitated-- and, for the moment, she instead listened to the gentle jazz alone at the bar. She was only alone for another moment, however. Soon, a stool next to her found itself occupied by a woman. Lucania stole sidelong glances as the woman ordered a drink for herself, and forced more of the liquid down in one gulp than she herself had sipped all evening. The woman was bespectacled-- with goggles that concealed her eyes-- the real oddity, though was her hair. It was like a red satin sheet-- but with curls. She was pretty, undoubtedly, but she was also marked by the deserts of the world, her clothing gave that away, as well as an enviable figure. Whomever she was, she wasn't from here. Interesting. That would also explain her tenacity. It's possible the red haired woman had never heard of her Family before, or at the very least, Lucania. Then again, she could also be an undercover MD assassin. The woman set down her glass, and surprised Lucania. Aside from Leo, no one had asked-- but here was a complete stranger, displaying a level of concern most of her family had forgone. The woman's voice was laced with empathy as she asked, "You okay?" Lucania still had the glass raised to her lips, and after processing the question, she almost laughed. The smile on her face was genuine, her eyes shifted from brown to a goldenrod color. Following the woman's lead, she set down her glass, before turning to address the question, "Okay..." She mused, tilting her head, "I... actually don't know." Letting the jazz fill the silence in between her words, Lucania took another sip of her drink. "I assume this is in reference to my flaying that porca miseria, am I correct?" She didn't wait for an answer, "Are you here to congratulate me or kill me?" She raised the glass to her lips, smirking again, "Perhaps both?"

A tall figure stood expressionless at the edge of the third story rooftop staring down at the ground, watching like a sentinel at the scene unfolding below. A soft wind tossed back his dark grey hair, his eyes shielded behind dark sunglasses. Powerful forearms, exposed by rolled up sleeves, lay folded across his chest. Below him, the infamous Lucania Bloody Sleeves Castalia tore away at Captain Worth of the Winged Guardians, a man of almost equal infamy down in the slums. Accompanying her was a man who could only be Leoluca Castalia, head of the family’s operations in Russell City, and second son of Don Castalia himself. Surely they had made quite a scene for themselves down there. Bento lifted a hand to withdraw the rolled cigarette from his lips and let it fall to his side as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. If he found the scene distasteful his face didn’t show it, having long been jaded towards the sounds of suffering. The problem with these Mafia types was that they always felt the need to make a spectacle out of things… It didn’t really matter, they would give him a better life than wasting away in the slums, whether by participating in their rise, or by profiting from their fall… From his vest pocket, Bento retrieved his flask and took a long pull before replacing it in his pocket. This woman certainly lived up to her reputation, slashing away at the broken man, "This!” She cried, “Is what happens to those who wrong you! Who wrong us!" Even from a distance, Bento could see tears streaming down her face as she raised the mutilated cock of a helpless man, a gesture testifying more to the depth of her grief than the breadth of her power. "Not just the Winged Guardians, I will personally bring death to any figlio di troia who crosses the Castalia Family!” “Hmmpf” Bento grunted, entirely unimpressed. Intimidation was one of the lowest forms of power, yet those who wielded it always seemed so sure of themselves. They were all the same, not one week ago he had returned to his apartment to find a group of five men posted up outside, claiming that they owned the street. Bento showed them the consequences of trying to use the power of intimidation against a man without fear. Even though their leader had been busy giving some lame speech, Bento could only hope that in the split second between noticing the gun that had just been pulled in his face, and the bullet entering his skull, the poor bastard saw the truth. That in a single moment, every ounce of power he had gained beating up old ladies in the street had been reduced to ash. What use was it then? Something that could be taken so easily was hardly even worth having. As her uncle dragged Lucania away from the scene thrown over his shoulder like a child, it was clear what kind of power she held. Bento raised the cigarette to his lips once more; there was no need to hurry after all. He knew exactly where they would be going, he might as well finish his smoke. The Immortal stood and watched as the crowd tore the old man down and ripped him to pieces. It was almost humorous to imagine, the foolish captain had been swayed by the same illusion that had now passed to the Castalia girl. He had tormented the slums with impunity, secure in the notion that his power would protect him from harm. But could it stop someone stronger than him from stringing him up from a lamppost? “Glass houses…” He mumbled to himself, pulling out the flask again. He was not with without weakness after all, Bento mused, pouring more whiskey down his throat than he really should have. Recalling the events of the afternoon should have made it clear that there was nothing strong about him. Whether he knew it or not, the truth was that he had come to this place to die. The bastards had broken him long ago and since then Bento had turned down every chance at happiness he’d been given. His father in Aspin, Sarah in Gate’s Pass, and dear Promos… Bento flicked his cigarette off the roof and traced its fall to the dirt below. There was no point in dwelling on the past any longer. He took one last look at the mangled corpse of Captain Adam Worth as light winds started to pick up around his feet. Finally, the Immortal did a quick once over to make sure all of his belongings were securely attached to his person before leaping off the roof. Instead of falling hard to the earth, he was propelled through the air by a powerful burst of wind, landing easily on the opposite roof. It was time to find the Bitches Brew…

A thin veil of smoke hung softly in the air, lazily drifting in a slow orbit around the room. It was dark, but just past the early afternoon, at the awkward stage of time just before traditional evening. Two silhouettes sat on either end of a heavy wooden table, crafted from some dark wood and polished so heavily that the flat beams of light streaming in through the thick, flat blinds caused the surface of the table to glow gently. The entire space had a moody, amber hue about it. The muddled mixture of sweat, cologne, smoke, and furniture polish permeated the air. One man stood, his darkened form outlined only by the mellow lightning. The other played a faint melody of fingers rapped upon a table was the only sound, that and the muted exhale of bitter smoke exiting the lungs. Jonathan turned from the window, exhaling a cloud of smoke that caught upon the subtle current of air propelled by a ceiling mounted fan, spinning quite leisurely. The man sitting across from him looked at ease, his girth filling the small wooden chair and seeming to spill out the sides. His shirt was a sweat stained, white button upon, that seemed to be straining against his bulk. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, releasing his own cloud of smoke. He cleared his throat, his double chin quivering as he did so. ”Two months Jonathan.” He spoke ominously, taking a manila folder from underneath the damp underside of his arm. He flipped it open to a growing report on Jonathan's favorite Immortal. A picture of a woman with frosty white eyes, and pale white hair was clipped to the front page. Beneath a few basic details were listed. ”Where would you like to start Matthus?” Jonathan paused a moment,”Drink?” He asked coolly, sitting in the padded chair on his side of the table. He looked Matthus in the eye, quirking one eyebrow as he pulled out an unlabeled bottle of alcohol, pouring some in each of the two empty glasses that had been to one side of the table. ”Er, no. Listen Jon, She is a Menace, Jon, one you've been unable to stop. She scares people, she's brash and unpredictable. She's a danger, Jon,” Matthus said, accepting the small glass from Jonathan's extended hand, filled with some dark, amber liquid. He took a generous sip, the liquid burning strongly as he drank. It was all he could do to maintain his composure and not splutter in the awful taste of it. He had never been one for degenerate's brew, more of a fine wine man himself. He knew this was a tactic to make somebody feel ill at ease, serving the drink even when Matthus had denied it shifted the aura of dominance in the room into Jonathan's favor. ”I am aware. Send me competent soldiers, and I'll bring you a dead Immortal,” Jonathan replied sharply, his distaste for the current state of affairs evident in his speech. He emptied the glass in one fell swoop, setting it upon the surface of the table. ”Would you prefer wine instead?” He asked, clearly acknowledging the distaste on Matthus' face, who nodded in return. ”Ah, Shit. I'm all out.” Jonathan noted, holding up the empty wine bottle. Matthus wiped his brow once more. Another tactic, denying something he actually wanted. 'Jerk' he thought bitterly. ”Yes, yes. We all know how you feel about the corruption and bad politics Jon, but this is a serious matter.” Jonathan pressed the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling strongly and watching the ember glow to life. ”You remember Captain Worth?” Jonathan asked, watching the tendrils of smoke curl and twist about themselves, fading into a translucent cloud. ”Staff Sergeant Adam Worth, yes I know the man. An esteemed member of the institution if I recall, received an award for excellence some time ago.” Matthus answered, pointedly ignoring the glass of foul liquor before him. ”Found him strung from a pole not too long ago, upside down and naked. It was quite the public spectacle, can you guess how many Wings were actually present and didn't intervene? Can you fathom the amounts of bets they were placing? He was a distasteful man, I agree. But this kind of behavior is unacceptable Matthus!” Jonathan expressed fervently, pouring himself another glass of spirits. Matthus' eyes widened, ”Good Lord, No! Are you sure it was Adam?” ”Apparently he was fond of raping and killing women, not just the ones of age either mind you. There was something about a nine year old girl.” Jonathan added, relaxing slightly as he drank, warmth spreading through his body. ”And you believe the accusations of some murderer?” Matthus scoffed, forcing another mouthful of that distasteful brew down his throat. ”It was quite emotional, I don't recall murderer's crying as they lopped a man's genitals off,” Jon described, ”There had been an investigation going on for years Matthus, buried under legal paperwork, hidden from the department heads. Somehow she got a hold on these documents. Fuck Matthus! I had one personally mailed to my office!” ”She?” Matthus queried. Jonathan stubbed the smoldering butt of his cigarette out, pressing it firmly into the black bowl that served as an ash tray. ”Ole' Bloody Sleeves herself,” he muttered, shaking his head softly as he lit another cigarette. Today was a chain smoking kind of day. ”Y-you're Fucking kidding, right? Sottocapo's Kid?” The portly man stuttered, disbelief contorting his face. He looked in pain, obviously agonized by the news. ”Couldn't displace their foothold in Serenity, hell everyone down there is fucking paid off anyways, they might as well be gangsters themselves. Now it seems the old man wants Russel too!” Jonathan started, ”And who is going to stop him? Are you gonna fucking do it? Hell, if our own whore fucking soldiers can't stop a single girl how the hell do you think we're going to handle the Castalia Family?” ”Jesus Christ... you're right,” Matthus conceded, falling into a quiet astonishment. ”Good God Jonathan, it's going to be an all out war isn't it?” He asked, the prospect of such a thing was terrified to a man such as he, quite comfortable in his ways. ”Let me make something very clear to you Matthus. They public torture, the mail; They're here to stir up trouble. I've got men looking for where they're trying to setup, but hell they're probably paid off already. I wouldn't doubt it,” Jon stated, the anger rising in his voice at the last piece of his sentence. ”What if they are?” Matthus interjected. ”It's probably too late to stop them anyways. I give it less than twenty-four hours before their product starts moving. That's going to rile our small time drug dealers, our illicit distillers, and any other small fish criminal out there. They're going to get upset, unless they're cut into the profit, meaning they're going to make waves.” ”So we're worrying about small time drug dealers causing trouble? It's not li-” Matthus began. Jonathan interrupted him by slamming his palms down on the table hard enough to the two glasses to jump, the one closest to Matthus tipping and spilling. ”No you fat fuck! It means war. Think about it for God's sake!” Jonathan roared, his anger fueled by Matthus' ignorance. ”War?” Matthus questioned timidly. ”They've made a display of clipping one of our Wings. They've announced their arrival, she has made it very evident that they are moving in, and planning to stay. She's also an Immortal.” ”Shit... Jon..” Matthus said softly, breaking off as Jonathan stood abruptly. ”They're going to take over the illicit trades. Not everyone is going to be happy about that, and not everyone trusts the Guardians anymore. We're going to have vigilantes fighting in the streets of the slums. This is going to rile up the Immortals, if she's killing us then she's going to appear as an ally to at least some of them. I have no doubt they'll be used against us, unless she plans to kill them too, but why waste a good weapon?” Jonathan's spoke quickly, his concern expression furrowing his brow. ”So wh-” Matthus began to ask, before Jon cut him off again by slamming his hand on the table. ”I'm not finished! If the Guardian's are being paid off, hell, hired even, then we're going to lose control of the city. I'm talking total fucking anarchy Matthus, with a plethora of fucked up individuals in the middle of it inciting war. Feral hounds are going to be running rampant through the streets with all the bodies lying around, and trust me, they are vicious little bastards that roam in very, large packs.” Matthus paused for a moment, his trembling hand grasping the neck of the liqour bottle unsteadily. He took a large gulp of the drink, setting it down for a moment before taking another. His hand was still shaking as he set the bottle down, looking into Jonathan's icy stare. ”J-Jon what do you... I m-mean where's this.. Fuck! Alright! Jon, I'll get you your fucking interview! But so help me if you're wrong!” Matthus wheezed exasperatedly. Matthus gathered himself, emotionally, doing his best to form an expressionless exterior. No doubt a number of people had heard them as they passed by the small office. ”I'm not Matthus, you know I'm not.” Jon replied sincerely. ”That's the most terrifying part, Jon. Listen, I'll get you your meeting with Abicus, the recent reports are probably going to help your case.” Now Jon's interest was piqued, ”What reports?” Matthus paused inside the small doorway, his mass pressing against each side of the smooth metal frame, ”The flu is going around,” Matthus answered solemnly. ”For fuck's sake!” Jon exclaimed. All hell was about to break loose. ”Also, that's classified.” Matthus added, before letting the door swing closed behind him as he ambled down the bright hallway. Jonathan resumed his place sitting in the mildly comfortable chair, rebuilding his composure. If Matthus was true to his word than he should finally get that meeting he had been pushing for months. If anyone could organize a meeting with the ever busy General First Class, then it was Matthus. He looked at his pack of cigarettes, only one remained. He smiled ruefully to himself. It would appear as if he had a quick errand to run, he probably had some time yet before the presumed meeting. He slipped on his jacket, clasping his pistol holster to his body. He felt like jogging today. Jonathan's boot crunched loudly as he walked briskly across the rough dirt path. Behind him a building, barely held together by scraps of iron and rotting timber, emitted a sweet, fragrant odor. He had just enjoyed a fine meal of sweet carrots, hearty boiled potatoes, and a thick animal roast. He patted his stomach appreciatively, that was some well seasoned roadkill. The establishment had long been one of his favorites, “Gummy's Grub”. Aptly named, as the owner, Gummy, had only a single took jutting out from the upper portion of his mouth, making him quite comical when he gave his signature “Wide, Toothy grin.” Though dark of skin with rather pinched and unpleasant facial features, he was kind of heart and quite to make you laugh. The scent changed as Jonathan rounded the rickety wooden fence, bordering a dirt yard littered with all styles of dining implements, there was even a couch, with only grimy cushion. Out here on the street it smelled of sweet perfume, and musky cologne, of livestock and spiced goods. There was even the faint hint of wine mulling about, which meant there must be a vendor in town offering samples of his wares. Jonathan made a note to check later, right now he had more important business to attend to. The letter stuffed into his breast pocket had been delivered via messenger, dressed in the golds and reds of the faction colors. Matthus had delivered on his promise, and now Jonathan was steadily making his way towards the Guardian headquarters to meet with General First Class, Paxton Bradley. He turn off the lonely side street and found himself on one of the main avenues. He was quite familiar with this area, all of the city really, but this was one of the main roads leading up towards the central offices of the Winged Guardians. Here there were throngs of people milling about, in their mixed garbs of every style from desert raider to homely wife. This road was well paved, of solid packed dirt, and only offered dull thuds as Jonathan made his way past the thick clusters of shops, scattered homes, and multitudes of street peddlers hawking their wares. Russel was truly one of the most beautifully diverse cities, not that Jonathan had been to very many of them. The occasional mission to the outlying towns and villages, but he's never been past the borders since he left his previous Gaen home. Awhile later down the road, as the yellow sun stretched across the horizon. It would be about evening now, just past the earliest stages though. He stood outside the regional headquarters for the Winged Guardians. The center of the immense military force itself, the whole operation stemmed from this one building. It had once been a lonely little office, buried within a myriad of others specializing in just about everything, that was before Motum Diversum had actually risen to power and established the Guardians as the faction appropriated warriors. Now it was a monolithic structure, the entire compound surrounded by a thick, metal wall with its own guard towers. Two large, heavy iron doors stood open, guarded by a small post of soldiers. Jonathan approached the soldier sitting behind a low, smooth metal table smoking a cigarette. It was evident from the abundance of burned out stubs that this was pretty much all he did during his post. Jonathan cleared his throat, grabbing the man's attention. ”Ya? What?” He asked halfheartedly, his gaze only lingering on Jon for a moment before wandering back off to stare into the distance, probably lost in some daydream of scantily clad women in a shady bar. ”Is my name on that list, or am I going to have to bribe you?” Jonathan sneered, his foot tapping in irritation. The man huffed out a cloud of smoke before turning resentfully to the list. He made a facade of looking at it, no longer than a full second, before waving Jon in dismissively. Jon glared at him for a moment in vain, as the man had already turned back to watch the sun set slowly from behind his tinted shades. Jonathan gave up his notion of berating the man for his lack of sensible duty, and chose to walk beneath the wide awning of the walkway above him. The headquarters loomed before him, easily the tallest, and largest structure in the city. Ten floors of militaristic operations, intelligence, and communications. It had once been a wonder to him why a building that large was needed. A monumental tower rising above a large, squat, three story base. The thick double doors were pulled open for him as he walked up the polished steps, it was also the best restored piece of architecture. It seemed flawless. The elevator dinged, the sleek metallic doors sliding open to a brightly lit corridor before him. It looked the same as the last, a pleasingly uniform design. His boots clapped lightly against the shiny linoleum tiles, seamless and without impurity. At the end of the pristine hallway, on the tenth floor, a door stood closed before him. The mottled glass texture held a sign bolted just below it. General First Class: Paxton Bradley. He knocked lightly. ”Come in, Jon.” The general sat behind his large desk, polished until it gleamed under the bright white lightning set in the ceiling. A group of papers were stacked neatly to one side, next to an orderly positioned lamp and pen holder. The other side held a half empty bottle of what was most assuredly fine whiskey, held in a similarly colored wooden stand. Two empty circles on either side of the bottle had held the tempered drinking glasses, now resting in two separate hands with the dark liquid sloshing again the sides. Jonathan had just spent some time explaining his story, his concerns and ideals, to the General, who listened with a blank, but focused expression. Every so often he would nod in agreement, but he hadn't of said anything while Jon spoke. Now they sat in contemplative silence, letting the silence in the room thicken. ”I'll admit, not enough of these... concerns make it to my desk,” He started, eloquently, “I wonder who is stiffling the flow of such... concerning reports.” Jonathan cleared his throat, a tad nervous in the presence of such a prestigious man. ”I do not have the answer to that, Sir. But, with my proposal, such things wouldn't be of much concern anymore.” ”There would be certain benefits to this idea of yours. I rather like it myself, but are you certain you can control such a thing?” ”In all due respect, Sir, These Immortals, are not things. They're people, but more than that. The guardians are just people too, but imagine the implications of such an advancement. We could start over, we could get it right this time. It would be as easy as controlling an animal, not that they don't act like such. I'm sure you've heard about Adam.” ”Yes, an unfortunate event, but enlightening. Honestly, I'd like to thank that little arrogant princess. If it hadn't of been for that bloody display of violence, I may have never had this conversation with you.” ”I do owe her the circumstance, the means were crude and only resulted in kicking the hornet's next, so to speak. Just picture it, our own Winged Immortals marching down the street, unstoppable.” ”That, is the only problem I have with this so far, should it succeed.” The General stated, voicing his only real concern, yet he had no doubt that the man before him had a solution in mind. ”Awhile ago there was a project being developed by the scientists in Aspin. A tracking chip for vehicles, and a mobile module that could receive the signal. I hardly think it would be a challenge for them to implement a.. collar, for our animals.” ”Now that, is brilliant. Why the hell don't I have more like you Jon? I swear if only they had succeeded in cloning.” Jonathan smiled at the general's praise. He wasn't called brilliant very often, and from a man such as Paxton Bradley, it was better than a badge of honor. ”And of course, I volunteer to be patient zero.” The general laughed mirthfully, emptying his glass of whiskey, ”Ah! I would hope so. You didn't strike me as the kind of man to sit back contently, no, you're a man of action, Jon. I'll make the necessary arrangements. Also, you may be pleased to know I've gotten word of a shipment coming in, from Grayson.” ”Oh? From my brother?” Jon asked, his interest piqued. ”Seems in his spare time he developed something, two things actually, that I think will go quite nicely with this project you've come up with.” ”Spare time, hah! That sounds like him. I look forward to it, Sir.” Jon mused proudly. He brother was something else, an achievement for the human race itself. ”If this is successful, I'll see about contacting those scientists. No need to stir up the brains before we need to, and I doubt I have to worry about a man such as yourself.” The general said, standing from his plush, rolling office chair as a signal that it was time for Jon to go. ”Of course, Sir. Nothing would please me more than to serve my faction.” Jon replied, wholeheartedly. No doubt, underneath the general's apparent unconcern for rebelliousness he was thinking on how easy it would be to eliminate any potential, metahuman threats. ”You should receive word by tonight. It won't be hard to arrange a.. volunteer. As for manpower, I know four men who would, after seeing your success, happily oblige to fall under your command.” Jonathan's pride swelled,”Thank you General, I look forward to success in our endeavors.” Jon shook the general's calloused hand with his own energetically. This was all happening much faster than he had anticipated, but the general obviously saw the urgency in the matter. The door closed softly behind him as he walked back towards the elevator, passing office after office. Only the higher ranking officials were located up here, but Jon was too preoccupied to imagine himself up here one day-- his mind was swimming with the future prospects of his career. He was so, undoubtedly happy at this moment.

A few moments passed before she got her answers. Moments during which she listened to the gentle music. It didn’t quite fit her tastes, but she figured that it was alright for background noise. At being addressed, she turned her head to look at the young woman, the rest of her body following soon. “That must be a record,” she said with a fair amount of humour in her voice. “Only about ten seconds after we’ve met and you already ask if I want to kill you.” She paused, a small smile spreading across her lips, the jazz momentarily filling the silence between them. “Let me answer that with another question: I’m a woman, and—” she reached up to her goggles, taking them off in a fluid motion and putting them in the bag she carried with her, revealing eyes of solid green, interrupted only by a slitted pupils “—this. Which do you think it is?” “Well…” Lucania’s eyes, almost matching the woman’s, became green with surprise. She hadn’t spent much time around those suffering from the same affliction as she, and while her actions today had certainly been driven by a personal revenge, she couldn’t deny that she had hoped it would serve as something of a calling to those like her… Those few who had survived the Sickness. “I should hope you’ll let me take care of that empty glass.” Her eyes met with the bartender’s, and she didn’t even need to speak to alert him of the need for refills. As he moved to fill their glasses with more bootlegged alcohol, Lucania’s gaze met again with the beastial eyes of the red-haired woman, “Lucania.” She said, as if her name carried enough weight without including the last, “I don’t recall ever actually meeting anyone else with… what is it? The immortal affliction?” “Evelina. Evelina Quinn, actually.” Her eyes darted to the bartender briefly, noting that he seemed well at ease with two Immortals sitting in front of him. The only reason she’d even revealed herself was because no one else here seemed to care that Lucania was “afflicted.” “I don’t really know what they call it,” she said at length. “Only that we’re called Immortals and have survived The Sickness.” Perhaps it was subconsciously, but she couldn’t help but notice how she lowered her voice as she spoke. Consciously raising her voice to a normal level, she continued. “But to answer your question—properly, this time—I guess it is neither. You were brutal, that much is obvious, but I also think you were fair.” Sighing, she grabbed her now re-filled glass and sipped from it. It still tasted foul, but it was easier to deal with when she wasn’t gulping it down. “The things you said made me… curious, perhaps. I wanted to both meet you, and see if there was anything I could do.” A sidelong smirk lit up on her face. “I am a medic, after all. Or doctor, or healer. Whichever you call it.” “Hmm…” Lucania found herself looking down, in the glass of golden firewater, she could see her face, the slight gleam in her eyes, and the physical changes that occurred when her mind those still tender memories. “Healer?” She was aware the sadness was literally painted across her expression, in more ways than just deep blue eyes. She wasn’t going to cry, but she did need to acknowledge the pain, lest she’d suffer a fate of reliving it. Perhaps it was the alcohol loosening her tongue, perhaps the Healer Evelina, with her cat-like eyes had a calming aura, whatever it was, in that moment, she felt relaxed. “You’re perceptive.” Further inhibiting her anxieties with more alcohol, “There aren’t enough perceptive healers in the world…” Lucania’s voice drifted off. A moment later, she rested her cheek on her hand as she began to speak, “I… wanted him to feel the pain he had caused me-- I told myself it would be for everyone he had ever hurt, but, when it came down to it…” She lost herself staring into the glass again, her tone contemplative, “I simply didn’t care. I wanted him to hurt because he wronged me. I still do.” As she looked back up at Evelina, she laughed, “I’ve probably already made that much obvious, haven’t I?” “Perhaps a little,” Evelina conceded with a gentle smile. “My life as an Immortal hasn’t been easy; I lost my home because of it. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t tried to look for scapegoats before, but… there simply aren’t any. We humans are egocentric, and we think of ourselves above all else, with very few exceptions.” A few moments of silence passed with Evelina silently studying Lucania’s face. The beauty of the other was forgotten in those moments, as she simply looked to learn how to read her. At one point which could have been several minutes later, she chanced lifting a hand to her shoulder, placing it gently on a silent show of support. “I don’t think it was wrong of you to want to hurt him. I would do the same.” A pause. “Who was it?” The question hit Lucania hard—harder than she would have liked, harder than she would have thought—her body tensed, all the frustrations of the last 8 years came to her, and she couldn’t do anything to hide it, or run away from it, as she registered the question she had no choice but to feel its full brunt. “You are…” she forced herself to take another sip of the booze, softening her expression, “...an extremely perceptive healer, Miss Quinn…” “Hmmm… She was…” Unconsciously, she studied the room as she searched for the appropriate word; she observed it’s smoking patrons, all facing some kind of loss, all dealing with it in some unhealthy. Even Evelina had lost something, her home, apparently. Everyone dealt with it, this place, this city, almost seemed to be where it came to fester. Yet, for Lucania, a pretty stranger had just come up to her and lent an ear. The word escaped her lips without the intervention of thought, “Odd.” She let the word linger and dissipate in the smoky air, before giving a genuine, if melancholic, giggle. “She was odd,” She continued, not quite smiling, but with a slight upward curve in her lips, “She was my heart… my innamorata…” The laugh gave rise to a smirk, “I loved her, and she was a fucking weirdo!” Lucania took in a deep breath of the stale air, releasing a relieved exhaling, “Have you ever read The Iliad? I suppose, in a way, that she’s like my own Helen of Troy… Right down to the useless war I may have just started because of her.” Evelina was afraid that her question had angered Lucania for a moment. Heaven’s knew that she did not have any intentions of starting a fight or causing any anger, yet she had asked. It had been a gamble, one that—judging by the softening of Lucania’s expression—seemed to have gone off in her favour. She kept her own expression a gentle one, using every trick in the doctor’s book to how to make the patient feel at ease with her mere presence. She was elated, then, when she started speaking, slowly at first and then a bit quicker. She nodded every once in a while, smiling genuinely once or twice, especially at the mention of how she “loved her.” A girlfriend, then? Her smile widened imperceptibly. At the end of her small speech she found herself at a loss for words. Not so much because of any major revelations, but because of the question. “I can’t say that I have. Not sure if I’ve heard of it either. What’s it about?” Useless war? I’m curious, but… I don’t think I should pry. It’s probably that guy from before. Adam, was it? Her eyes became hard and searching for a moment, the look disappearing almost immediately afterwards. She’s not a normal girl, that much is for certain. Neither is this bar; no sane bar owner would allow two Immortals to just sit and chat away. There’s something more about her. Lucania’s smile went from gentle to cocky in an instant, “What is it?” She repeated, mostly to herself, as if to feign deep thought, she rested her chin on her hand, “It’s book about the Old World’s Old World! Two of these tribes begin to fight each other over the love of Helen of Troy—” Her smile widens as she recalls the story, “Helen was particularly beautiful because her father was a God— Zeus— but he mated with an earthly woman from a place much more pure than Dust by becoming a swan…” She looked over to Evelina, as if anticipating the odd looks, “I know, the Old World Gods were very… odd, as well. Anyway, these two tribes ended up fighting over her BECAUSE of that beauty, not despite it. Helen was viewed, by many, as a trophy of conquest.” Lucania stopped for a moment to breath, her eyes were like honey as she continued, “Personally, I prefered The Odyssey, but I never get to talk to ANYONE about this stuff, so really if you wanted to know more about The Iliad, I wouldn’t mind explaining it.” She thought for a moment, before touching her hand to her head in frustration, “Cazzo…” She muttered before continuing, “I know I’ve got a copy of it somewhere, but it’s probably in my… place of residence… in Serenity…” She sighed, “Oh well… That’ll be a good reminder to have my books brought up sometime…” The gods of the old world did indeed sound odd, Evelina agreed, though she did not speak it out loud. She simply nodded and kept silent as Lucania continued her small speech. It was rather entertaining despite how alien the topic was. She knew very little of the old world, having read almost nothing but medical books in her years of growing up, except for a small number of fairy tales as a child, most of which her mother had regaled to her as bedtime stories. She kept her focus mostly on the younger woman as she spoke, only looking away once to grab her glass and sip from it. “An interesting tale,” she said after Lucania had finished. “It’s—” she stopped mid-sentence suddenly, staring at the brunette’s shoulder, eyes widening ever so slightly and cheeks turning rose. “Sorry,” she continued after a short while, “I should probably remove my hand.” She chuckled awkwardly and, removing her hand from Lucania’s shoulder, placed it back in her own lap. She hadn’t even realised that she was still holding it there. Lucania chuckled, “It’s quite alright.” She found herself amused at the woman’s slight blush. Probably due to equal parts emotion and influence of alcohol, her eyes shifted from an amused yellow to a slight plum color during the interaction. She took another sip of her seemingly bottomless drink. “As I was saying, It’s a little familiar, some of it at least. You mentioned the Odyssey? Isn’t that the godly mountain or something? Or was that Olympan?” She scratched her head idly, racking her brain for the information, as her eyes drifted to the ceiling in thought. Bringing her gaze back to the plum coloured eyes. Wait… She tilted her head, brows furrowing and nose scrunching up in thought. “I’ve noticed your eyes… They change colour fairly often. Before they were yellow, not they’re… plum… purple? Do they change systematically with a certain interval between each, or does it have to do with something else?” A girlish giggle escaped Lucania’s lips, “No, no,” She leaned in closer to Evelina, “Olympus is the mountain where the Gods reside, The Odyssey is the story of Odysseus! I prefer it over The Iliad because of it’s emphasis of intelligence over strength…” “As for my eyes…” Lucania smirked, her lips parted only slightly, “I’ve found they’re fairly straightforward, they become a yellowish-gold for happy, blue for sad, red for angry…” Lucania risked placing her hand over Evelina’s, “Purple can be anything from pleasure to… a more personal attraction…” Lucania was flush with emotion, as she leaned in closer to Evelina, with her wild red hair, the pair’s lips were probably less than an inch apart as Lucania whispered, “Which do you think it is?” Evelina listened intently as Lucania explained, near-ruby lips pursed in thought as she worked to categorize the information, a task made slightly more difficult thanks to the alcohol in her system; she was, after all, not used to drinking, and more than one glass of this drink had taken its toll on her, as evident by the pleasant buzz in her body. She was about to open her mouth to reply when she felt a hand on her own, silencing her. Her eyes flitted from those purple eyes to the small hand over her own, and back again, only to find said eyes—and face—even closer than before. She almost didn’t hear the last part. Almost. She parted her own lips slightly, though not quite enough to reveal her canines. “I’m not quite sure what to guess,” she said, her voice lower and more uncertain than before. Her cheeks became an even deeper red, coming closer to matching her hair than they had in more years than she cared to count. “But… I think…” She could lean forward. It’d be so easy. Just try it out. Find the answer to a question she had asked herself for so long. No. It wouldn’t be right. She’s drunk, so am I. Is it really wrong? The signs are there. She wants to. I can’t take advantage of it for my own selfish reasons! Is it really selfish? Or are you just afraid? I am not afraid. I’m just… uncertain. If you do not want to act, then wait. Let her act. ...Okay. With her inner dialogue done, her focus returned to the land of the living. She was still face to face with Lucania, still so close that the smell of sunflowers wafting off of her was as clear to her as the plum-coloured eyes. She didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She just waited, expectantly, gazes locked; eyes gentle. The room went completely silent, for a moment, the two Immortal strangers were the only people in the room. To Lucania, at least, they were the only two that mattered. The amusement in her eyes didn’t fade as she tilted her head, “Mmmm… You didn’t answer my question…” She could feel the nervous breath of the other spread warmly across her lips as it left her body, “Here..” Lucania’s hand left Evelina’s lap, it traced it’s way up her body, fingertips barely meeting her curves. Their cheeks only lightly brushed as she whispered into her companion’s ear, “It’s okay… I’ll answer for you.” She let her errant hand get lost in Evelina’s hair before it found it’s way to rest on her cheek. For a moment, their eyes met again. After the heavy moment had passed; that silent wordless, heavy moment between eyes green and deep purple passed. Lucania closed the distance. Their lips met in a kiss. A drunken kiss. A genuine kiss. It meant both nothing and the world. Lucania pulled Evelina closer in the embrace. For that kiss, she let her worries melt away. For that kiss, the world didn’t matter; all that mattered was the warmth she felt, the softness of Evelina’s skin, the feeling of a long forgotten pleasure. She could not speak. Any word or phrase she might have uttered was strangled before it even had the chance to be said. But she didn’t want to say anything. Be it the alcohol or the vicinity of a woman as beautiful as Lucania, she didn’t know, but something made everything in the vicinity seem like it was slowing down to a crawl. A shiver went up her spine as the hand on top of her own started moving, sliding gently across her thigh, and up along her waist. The touch was light, and something she had done to her patients more times than she cared to count. It was a touch that was… seeking, like she did when looking for a fracture, yet this felt so different, so much more important. She reached out tentatively, running her own hand gently along Lucania’s curves, a faint smile spreading across her lips at the sensation of the velvety dress underneath her fingers. She looked up again, green and purple meeting. She felt fingers running through her hair, and then lips. For the first time in her life, Evelina was kissed. Her eyes flew open, her body going rigid for just a moment before she melted, closing her eyes and pushed back, though only a little. She returned the embrace, wrapping both arms carefully around the other woman, trying her best to reciprocate. No matter how hard she tried, however, it was no doubt easy to tell that she was new at this. Very new. Time slowed for Lucania. She could feel each beat of their fluttering hearts, each touch from Evelina felt amplified, as their bodies pressed against each other with their lips, she felt as though her entire form might spasm. Luckily for her, moments were just that; all doomed to come to an eventual end. For this particular moment, it occurred as Lucania broke their embrace for air. Slowly, as she opened her eyes, she immediately noticed several things; everything seemed to be brighter, nearly everyone at the bar had their eyes glued to the scene, and perhaps the most important thing, was that Evelina was still there. She had, for a moment, thought that she might have been dreaming it all. Some would call her aggressive—Lucania would agree. As she leaned back in, planting kisses along Evelina’s cheek and exposed neck, she didn’t hesitate in asking between kisses, “First time with a woman?” “First time ever,” she replied with a short chuckle. “I’ve never as much as embraced someone else before now, except for my parents.” And how she had missed out, she thought. Those short few moments where nothing had existed but the two of them were some of the best she had ever had. The warmth, the closeness, the security she felt, and so much more still flooded her mind and made her cheeks warm and heart beat just that much faster. Not a thought had been given to the people around them, not a one to her own doubts. Everything except Lucania had been drowned out in the instant their lips met, and she would trade it for nothing. “I gotta say,” she continued after a while, cheeks becoming an even darker shape of scarlet, if that were at all possible, from the kisses on her cheek and neck. “I hadn’t expected this to happen.” She chuckled again. “I just hope you don’t regret it, or won’t come to.” “Mmm,” Lucania moaned in an immediate response, she lingered on Evelina’s neck a moment longer; she possessed the most pleasant scent of gasoline and liquor. Her skin lightly perspired, and with each soft brush against the neck, she felt Evelina shudder with each new sensation, her blood warm… Blood warm… Warmblood… Like the breed of horse! Lucania’s eyes narrowed, she stopped for a second. Why am I thinking of horses right now? She continued her necking. Maybe Diane really was right… For the time being, she shook the thoughts from her mind and replied to Evelina, “On the contrary, Miss Quinn, I’m honored.” Lucania’s eyes, now a richer violet, found their ways to get lost into Evelina’s feral green, “On a…” She paused, choosing her phrasing carefully, “...completely unrelated note… Where were you planning on going after you left here tonight? You’re a drifter, are you not? Do you have family here?” For the most part Evelina simply sat motionless, her hands resting on Lucania’s hips. It might be wrong to say that she was lost in the sensation of the lips against her neck, but she certainly did enjoy it, soft and warm as it was. “Heh, honoured. It’s nice knowing that I’m… appreciated like that.” Unnoticed even by herself were the slight hitch on her voice, as if the sentence was more sincere than even she realised. A few more moments of silence passed with only their individuals breathing making any sound. Not even the bar around them seemed to so much as breathe. But like all good things must come to an end, so did the silence between Luciana and Evelina. The question did catch her off guard, but the transparency of it elicited a loud chuckle. “I am a drifter, yes. And no, I don’t have any family here nor a place to stay. I simply came to send a letter and get some more food and water.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked down at the smaller woman. “I guess that leaves me with no choice but to stay at an inn?” “Ugh,” Lucania exaggerated her disgust, “I wouldn’t stay at one of those horrid excuses for a bed and bath if someone paid me! Honestly…” Lucania’s voice was smug, but self-assured, “All you have to do is ask, dear, they’d probably give you the room for free…” Her drink had been getting lonely, she sloshed around the golden liquids before taking a larger sip, “...this club is basically mine, after all.” Giggles rippled from past her lips at the sarcastic and cocky statement from Lucania. It was so over the top that she couldn’t stop laughing even if she wanted to. Even if she didn’t want to, however, the last bit of what she said did make her stop. She had been transparent before, but now she was being just blunt. “So what I’m hearing is that you want to spend the night with me?” She asked, a smirk pulling at her lips, which only grew at the look of surprise she received. “Yes, you’re that obvious,” she continued, chuckling. “I wouldn’t mind, but… I’d ask for it to be separate beds. I’m still new at this… whatever it is,” she waved her hand at the both of them. “I’d prefer to go slow, at least until I figure myself out. Make no mistake, I have absolutely no experience with this. At all.” She looked mildly uncomfortable for a moment, and mirrored Lucania’s action of sipping from her drink. “I hope you’re okay with this.” And hope I didn’t just make a fool of myself by assuming things. Lucania feigned a gasp, “Miss Evelina Quinn, I do declare!” She placed a hand on her own chest, pretending as if the words had physically wounded her, “I would expect nothing less than a 5 star dinner and a play before you asked me to share a bed with you! How so very scandalous!” Lucania began to fan herself with her hand, she mimicked the shaky voices of so many ‘proper’ older women, “Oh! You’ve gone and given me a case of the vapors!” Lucania stepped off of her bar stool, she laid the back of her hand across her forehead, “Goodness! Evelina dearest… as a healer I’ll need you to escort me to my fainting chair… But nothing more tonight!” Her expression became less exaggerated, returning to the smirk she had started with, hints of her hubris painted all over it, “I am a woman of high standing after all! It will require more than your pelvic sorcery to win my affections... my newest suitor.” Lucania gave a slight curtsy to the sitting Evelina before offering her hand. Yeah, there’s nothing to be afraid of, Evelina thought, her smirk widening into a fully fledged smile. She took the proffered hand and stood up, now seeing the true height difference between them. She’s… quite a bit smaller than I expected. “Hubris, my dear,” she answered Lucania, her tone as refined as she could make it. “Who was it that kissed me first, hmm?” Daring a wink, she continued. “I believe, if anything, that you’re the one attempting ‘pelvic sorcery’... whatever that actually is.” In the silence that followed, she took her chance to glance around at the bar, and its patrons, around them. There were still those who looked at them, those who glanced, and lastly the people who had had their fill of “entertainment.” Looking around brought another thought to mind as well. She remembered how the bartender seemed completely at ease with two women who were obviously Immortals, and she hadn’t attempted to hide her eyes since she took off her goggles, so more people would know of her condition. Yet none seemed disgusted or even afraid, and just acted like she was another normal person. She looked back at the smaller brunette, one eyebrow rising slightly. So that’s why they never said anything. Like she said, this bar is basically hers. She puffed out her cheeks, a thoughtful expression falling over her features for a short while. She definitely isn’t just any normal girl, she thought as she lifted her right arm in a silent invitation. “Shall we?” She asked, smiling. “Your ‘fainting chair’ awaits.” It was an invitation Lucania accepted, with all of the grace instilled in her by the family. As she locked arms with Evelina, she practically tripped. Leading the pair through the crowd, she found herself stumbling more and more, and the further they went, the more she found herself leaning on Evelina—she was able to admit to herself that it wasn’t entirely for support. She found she liked being close to the woman, and their difference in size made the not-so-subtle nuzzling extremely easy. She led the two to a stairwell, directly behind the stage, as they passed it Lucania muttered, “I completely forgot…” “Forgot what?” The pair paused their trek while Lucania took in the sight of the stage, a band playing smooth with no singer at the microphone. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just supposed to perform tonight is all…” She sighed, then shrugged, her gaze shifting to the crowd, “I imagine they’re all to drunk to care much, now. Still...” She began to, slowly, make her way up the stairs, “...It seems you may be more of a bad influence than I’d initially thought!” She’s more drunk than I thought, Evelina mused, noting how heavily Lucania leaned into her for support. No wonder with how small she is. She kept silent for a while after the accusation of being a bad influence, her ever-present smile widening slightly. “I’m a bad influence? Since when? You’re the one who caused a scene down there!” “No…” She waved her hand, as if she was removing cobwebs from the air, “My whole job is to cause scenes!” She planted a wet kiss on Evelina’s cheek, “I think you’ve charmed me! Like a witch! Sent to put me under your spell!” As they reached the top of the stairs, Lucania opened the nearest door before turning to Evelina, “I’ve got to tell you; it’s working.” Evelina sighed, shaking her head in amusement. “Your job right now, Miss Lucania, is to show me where our room is so I can take a shower, and you can get to bed.” She wrapped her arm around her to aid in supporting. “You’re just a tiny bit drunk, you know… and I’m not a witch.” She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. “They have big noses and more years than I care to count on their butt. I have neither.” “I’m not drunk! I’m...” The door led to another hallway, as she stumbled through it she shifted her head, as if she was searching in the dim light for a particular word, or perhaps the right door, maybe both. “I’m just tired!” Lucania was aware of her own denial, the tiny sips had added up, “But you’re right, you aren’t a witch, you’re… a nymph, like Calypso!” Her eyes began to droop as her own fatigue combined with the intoxication, “I’ll explain it later…” She sighed and opened another door, this one opening into a pristine looking room, designed similarly to the club’s main floor. “Here it is!” She kicked off her heels, slightly improving her balance as she walked over to the bed in the center of the room, “They designed it like my place in Serenity, but they couldn’t find a bed as big as mine, so I’m told they just pushed two together…” She dropped her purse before she began to pull at the frame of one of the beds, with minimal results. “Tired, right. And not at all tipsy from… three of those drinks? It was powerful stuff, I’m sure of that,” she said, teasingly poking Lucania in the side. “Just admit that you’re just the tiniest bit drunk.” She winked. “I may even have a cure for the coming hangover.” She followed her into the room, mouth hanging slightly agape at the sight of it. Not only was it big, but it was probably the finest room she had ever laid eyes upon; her parents’ house didn’t even come close to the prestige that this room seemed to ooze from every corner. She was about to ask how Lucania had gotten access to this room, but was interrupted by the sudden revelation of just how much smaller she actually was now that her heels had been taken off. “You’re small,” she said bluntly, too much so. Not a second had passed before she slapped her forehead with her palm. “Sorry, that wasn’t very nice. I should know better than to point out other people’s… differences.” The sight of Lucania trying to move the two beds apart greeted her when she lowered her hand from her forehead, a slightly comical sight of she had to be honest. Silently, she walked over to her and grabbed hold of the frame of the bed and pulled. Nothing seemed to happen. “Is this thing bolted to the floor?” She muttered, taking a step back. “Lucania, take a step back. I wanna try something.” With a huff, Lucania halted her efforts to separate the beds, “Why would it be bolted…” Shaking her head, she did as Evelina had ordered, before sinking to the floor, “Maybe we’re both too small…” Evelina smirked, walking over to the foots of the beds. “What does it matter being small if you can do this.” She extended both arms forward, palms of her hands facing each other. A shimmer appeared in the air between the beds, similar to the air above a fire. Slowly, and carefully, Evelina increased the distance between her palms the shimmer in between the beds dividing into two. The screeching sound of a heavy wooden object being pushed across wood filled the air as Evelina pushed the beds away from each other, stopping once there was approximately one and a half metre between them. She lowered her arms, her smirk still present. “There, that should do it.” She looked at Lucania. “That okay with you?” “Yeah that’s…” She pulled herself off the floor, only to fall on the nearest bed, she shifted on her side to face Evelina, her expression still incredulous, “Incredible… What… was it?” She raised a closed fist to eye level, looking intently at Lucania over it. With a theatrical movement, she opened her palm, above which hovered what could only be described as a miniature sun. It was a small orb of yellow-ish white light, strong enough to illuminate Evelina’s face from where she held it, but little more. “Light,” she said, “I have the ability to control light, and what I just used was light solidified into a barrier of sorts. I’m a… defensive type Immortal, I guess you could say. It fits with me being a healer, doesn’t it?” She grinned, cheekily. “Any other questions? If not I’d like to take a shower. I haven’t bathed for days.” “That’s interesting…” However, the interest was only temporary, Lucania’s eyes went wide as she registered what she had just said fully, “Days? Ugh. If you don’t go now, I’ll bathe you myself!” She touched her hand to her forehead, comprehending her unintentional innuendo, “In a non-sexual way! Just go!” Laughing, Evelina headed for the adjacent bathroom, only stopping in the doorway for a brief second to say, “that’s what happens when you’re a Drifter. Not many chances to bathe.” It might’ve just been her imagination, but she could’ve sworn she heard a pillow hit the door just as she closed it behind her. She chuckled to herself again, despite the show of violence earlier that day, Lucania was actually a rather kind and entertaining person. She stripped quickly and entered the shower, warm water falling from the showerhead in liquid streams of bliss. The shower could very well be the most refreshing thing she had ever experienced: The water hitting her body and soaking her hair. Dirt and grime falling off of her body, and loosening her sore muscles. She quickly washed and simply spent the next half hour standing in the water, eyes closed in quiet bliss. It couldn’t last forever, of course, and after a while she turned off the water and stepped out, drying off as best she could and putting her jeans and T-shirt back on, leaving the bandages in the bathroom. She stepped out with a towel still in her heads, working to drain the last bit of moisture from her hair which, at the moment, fell over her right shoulder. “That was nice,” she said to no one in particular, throwing the towel over the back of a nearby chair. Lucania stirred. She hadn’t fallen into a deep sleep and woke easily, she turned under the covers to see a newly cleansed Evelina. As her senses returned, she noticed a difference between this Evelina and the Evelina that had entered the shower. Lucania’s eyes had never changed color so fast, her cheeks flushed red with the blood beneath them at the… surprise. Surprises? “Umm…” She couldn’t formulate a response. Lucania Cleodora Melia Castalia couldn’t formulate a response. This was a first for her. She tore her eyes away from the ‘surprises’ to inquire about… something, “I’d… I’d wager it was. You look nice. I mean, you looked nice before, but now you look… different?” Lucania slapped her hand to her forehead, turning in the bed to stare at the ceiling, before looking at her own chest, her voice held a tinge of jealousy, “I guess I am small…” At first Evelina simply tilted her head in confusion, uncertain as to why Lucania acted as she did. She couldn’t help but giggle at the red cheeks and green eyes. She had a feeling that the term “green with envy” was very apt when it came to Lucania. “Thanks,” she said, genuinely thankful for the compliments. She stepped closer and sat on the edge of the already occupied bed. “But it’s not really you that’s small, it’s just me that’s... “ she looked down at her chest, grimacing. “It’s just me that’s huge.” She turned back to the prone woman, reaching out to brush a lock of brown hair out of Luciana’s eye with the tip of her finger. “So no need to be jealous. Heck, I should be the jealous one; you’re far more beautiful than I.” She could’ve slapped herself. The alcohol was clearly the one speaking. I’m going to cringe so many times when I wake up tomorrow. So many cringeworthy comments, she thought. “You are a shameless flirt…” Lucania observed, “Or perhaps you’re just really good at hiding your shame… either way it’s adorable.” “My shame.” She let the word hang in the air for a while, eyes glazing over. “I... “ She shook her head, the light returning to her eyes. “It’s not that I’m a flirt, I’m just being honest… and adorable? Perhaps. Eitherway, you’re drunk and tired, and I think you should go to sleep.” She stood up. “I will be, at least.” “Hmm,” Lucania sighed. Evelina was right, she was practically asleep already and the sooner she got to work sleeping off whatever grog she had been served tonight, the better, “Alright,” Before succumbing to Hypnos’ tendrils, however, she did move to grab Evelina’s hand, placing a soft kiss on it’s back, she looked into Evelina’s eyes with green eyes of her own, “Goodnight, Evelina.” A blush rose to Evelina’s cheeks, courtesy of the kiss. It was such a simple, and old, gesture. A kiss on the hand was nothing more than a greeting. Yet even thinking that did nothing to lessen the rose in her cheeks. Composing herself, she gave Lucania a wide smile before heading for her own bed, a quick “Good night,” was uttered before she lay down and pulled the covers over herself. “Sleep well.”

The pair walked side-by-side in the warm late-afternoon breeze, a cigarette hanging loosely between Sydney's fingers and a cigar resting between Jackson's lips. The air was heavy, harbouring a dank aroma that had manifested steadily alongside the ever-growing poverty-stricken populace of the slums, and accompanying it, a sinister undertone that seemed to linger wherever one retreated. The scent of gunpowder, or of blood. Underfoot shattered glass crunched, and litter lined the edges of streets and alleyways in such a way that the ground underneath could rarely be seen. It was less of a home to the poor, and more of an elaborate trap designed to coax the non-contributing members of society into an early grave. "This isn't good, is it, Jackson?" Sydney asked. Her voice was naturally raspy, seductive according to men of The Dust. Even in the gravest of situations it had the tendency to sound a little too laid back. "No..." He replied, breathing in a lungful of smoke and exhaling slowly. "It's not." They turned onto a narrow alleyway in silence. Against the decrepit walls lay groups of bodies, some afforded the luxury of a sleeping bag - despite the heat of the day not calling for one, others huddled beneath cardboard boxes or amongst a swath of rubbish. Jackson eyed each one with scrutiny. Their faces were obscured, but needless to say he recognized some simply by their size and shape, or the manner in which they curled up in an attempt to block out the fact of their bleak existence. It took only a moment before his gaze landed upon a luminous orange sleeping bag with the outline of a malnourished young man beneath its fabric. Jackson rested his boot on the man's side and rolled him over so that a pair of sleep-deprived eyes met his own. "Money first," was all Jackson said. "Jackson, hey..." The man's eyes were wide, and ringed with dark lines and creases. He was more a boy than a man, having only just passed by his teenage years - as drug-fuelled and hazy as they may have been - yet he looked older. His face was gaunt and the skin hung from his bones in an appalling fashion. It was a pathetic sight, really. "Look. I'm real sorry but-" "Cut the bullshit, Twitch, I know you've got something to trade. You pay up or we leave." The young man, Twitch, sat up and looked about the alleyway. His head twitched to one side every couple of seconds and his hands clasped at the sleeping bag that covered his deteriorating wreck of a body. No one appeared to be awake. Even so, anyone who was awake would likely be uninterested in what he had to say. "I... er, I can't buy from you no more, man..." He said. "Hm?" Jackson knelt down on one knee so that their eyes were level. He regarded Twitch with a neutral expression for a moment before clasping his collar and forcing his head against the stone wall with enough force that rotting brick-work fell to the ground around them. Twitch let out a howl of pain, reaching for the back of his skull and finding his hands to be smeared with blood. He looked up to Jackson as if waiting for his next move. He didn't make one. "Why can't you buy from me anymore?" "I-I heard that... oh God... if you buy from, er, y'know small-time dealers they'll come after you..." "Who will come after you?" Jackson asked. There came no answer so he thrust the man’s head into the wall once more, raising his voice. "Who?" Around them the homeless began to stir, some muttering profanities under their breaths and attempting to fall back to sleep, others edging away from the scene or simply observing out of curiosity. Still Twitch refused to reply. Tears began to stream down his face and he sobbed into bloody hands. "Leave him, Jackson." Sydney said in a tiring tone while she tapped the ashen end of the cigarette and approached him. He felt her tender touch on the back of his neck, a warm hand snaking down the neck of his shirt. She was kneeling beside him. He withdrew his gaze from the bloody mess in front of him and looked Sydney in the eyes. "I know what he's talking about, alright. Just leave the poor guy alone and I'll explain." Jackson still held Twitch firmly by the collar. His knuckles were drained of blood from clenching the fabric so tightly, but caked in Twitch's own. It oozed slowly from a wound that neither Jackson nor Sydney could see and was already beginning to dry in intricate patterns on his skin. With a grunt Jackson stretched his fingers and allowed Twitch to collapse back into the wall. Another round of brickwork fell from above and settled in his hair, or stuck to the mixture of blood and tears that streaked his face. Twitch thanked and apologized to Jackson in a barely audible voice in between sniffles and a gravelly cough. *** "The Castalias?" Jackson asked, preoccupied, his voice muffled by the cigar in his mouth. He worked furiously to try and remove some of the blood that was beginning to stain his hands, and picked at dried chunks that had settled underneath his fingernails. "I thought they were down in Serenity causing trouble. What do they want up here?" "I don't know, I got wind of some planned expansion. I didn't think it would matter." She sucked on a freshly lit cigarettes, blowing smoke carelessly into groups of men and women who loitered on the streets. None of them seemed to care. "We've always had competition. We're only in this business to make enough money to get by-" "Pft, speak for yourself..." "-And as long as our regulars don't feel the need to change suppliers," she continued, "What does it matter to us?" "That's the problem, Sydney, they do feel the need to change suppliers. You saw Twitch, he didn't want anything to do with us." "That wasn't by choice." Jackson mulled on her point for a moment, eventually concluding that she was correct. "So, the Castalias," he began, "They're planning on expanding to Russel City?" Sydney nodded. "Crazy. The Wings will be all over them." "Of course they will." "And you think it was the Castalias who tipped off the Wings about our operation?" "I think that's the only reasonable explanation. We're on good terms with the other suppliers. They all know that if one operation is shut down the Wings crack down on the rest. If the Castalias were the ones who tipped them off about our operation, I bet they've grassed on every operation in the city. Shit, Jackson, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them are dead..." Jackson put an arm around Sydney, pulling her closer and allowing her head to rest against his chest as they walked. The sky above them was beginning to darken ever so slightly, and the breeze was beginning to cool. It was a relief when the unbearable heat of the day gave way to a slightly less maddening warmth, but regardless it was still an uncomfortable temperature. In such a confined space the stench of unwashed bodies was also thick and pungent, and only seemed to add to the humidity of the day. Jackson swore that this resulted in a slight opaque quality to the air, but Sydney was always quick to point out that nearly everyone who could afford one held a lit cigarette in their hand. It wasn't until they turned a corner onto a slightly wider street that they were met with quiet murmurs of unrest. Both of them could sense tension in the area, and the further they proceeded to walk the more prominent the angst amongst the men and women around them became. Some were hurriedly making their way in the opposite direction to Jackson and Sydney, while some lingered unsure of where to go. The shouting in the distance caught them both off guard. 30 years, Russel City! Instinctively the two of them glanced towards each other before taking of at a light jog, and judging by the sudden movement of the groups surrounding them they had not been the only ones to hear the shouting. Soon they found themselves amongst a steady flow of slum residents, all making their way to the source of the shouting. "You've got to be kidding..." Sydney growled as the mass of bodies came to an abrupt stop. Ahead of them Jackson could see the form of a man hung barbarically from a streetlight, his face slightly bloodied and his expression relaying confusion and terror. Below him stood a young woman. She was telling the assembled audience about crimes the man had committed, and despite being late to the party Jackson gleaned that he was something of a rapist. The woman’s words were harshly spoken, her whole demeanour ill-fitting of her soft features, pretty dress, and flowering hair. "That," Sydney whispered, "is Lucania Castalia." She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the woman. "Ah, the young lady whose family are stealing our business." "...Fucking entitled bitch..." Was all Sydney offered in response. An animalistic how erupted from the bound man's lungs as his eye was slashed. Despite their death chants the crowd retreated back a step to avoid the splatter of blood, and then continued to spur the young woman on. She lashed out again, this time at his torso, and more blood gushed from the wound, creating puddles of thick crimson on the uneven ground. "I don't know, she doesn't seem so different from you when you've got a temper on." Jackson said in a half-shout over the repetitive jeering of the crowd. "Don't give me any ideas." It took a while before the bloodbath came to an end. Lucania was carried away by a figure who Sydney could not identify, and the crowd fell like vultures upon the near-enough corpse of the Guardian - who Jackson believed had been named Adam Worth. He was unconscious now. It was a lucky escape. From what Jackson had heard of his crimes he thought the man deserved to endure suffering right up until his death. He would liked to have seen just how the slums residents decided to enact the Wing's murder, but Sydney pulled him away from the scene before he could satisfy his curiosity. She was moving at a brisk pace. A purposeful pace. "Come on, we'll follow them, see what rich bitches get up to once they're done with their tantrums." Jackson agreed without argument, amused at the extreme dislike Sydney displayed towards a woman she had never met before. *** Numerous wolf whistles fell on deaf ears as Sydney approached the bar at the Bitches Brew. Her scowls were hardly noticed by the intoxicated men whose bodies slouched limply in their chairs, let alone deterred them from admiring her slender physique as she perched on a stool and parted her lengthy brown hair. Jackson joined her, pulling up a stool and making his presence known. Angry mutters could be heard from a few men who quickly directed their perverse calls towards other patrons of the bar. Sydney then removed her jacket, catching the attention of a man to her right whose eyes landed promptly on her breasts, but following an ahem uttered by Jackson he too turned away. "You need to stop being such a sex symbol for these people," Jackson remarked, signalling for a round of drinks "Tell me about it. You should see what things are like when you're not around." "Worse?" She laughed before saying, "Of course." "That's why I worry about you." "You don't need to worry about me." She took a swig of the drink that had already been placed in front of her, testing it. After swirling it around in her mouth she swallowed and nodded her approval before downing the rest. "It’s good." "I just don't want anything to happen to you. Last time... I..." "Let me see your eyes." Sydney cut in, leaning towards him and taking his hands in her own. "It's been weeks." She moved a hand towards the rim of his sunglasses, edging them down the bridge of his nose. Instinctively he moved a hand to stop her. He looked about the bar. No one seemed to be interested in what they were doing, and anyone who had been eyeing Sydney seemed to have lost interest. Reluctantly he allowed her to move his glasses just low enough that she could see his eyes, and a smile spread across her lips. Grey, wispy galaxies met her own comparatively dull eyes. The corneas of both eyes were grey, but not static as one would expect. They flowed and moved as if smoke were moving about behind the glazed surface, and specs of white seemed to sparkle as stars did in the night sky. But this isn't what she loved about them the most. What she loved the most was that the view of this strange galaxy inside his eyes was unobscured. There were no pupils to detract from their beauty. Only orb-shaped doors to another world. And then he blinked and pulled the glasses back in front of his eyes. "Why don't you focus less on me, and more on Lucania. I can see her over there."

”Fucking! SON OF A BITCH!” Alex screamed furiously, delivering a mighty kick to the front of the frail chair and sending it sliding across the room, balanced precariously on two legs. The result of her fury was a smashed chair and a woman moaning pitifully within its wreckage, mostly assuredly from the boot that had met her groin, propelling the seat she was tied to across the room. A cloud of dusty rose up into the air, in a wavering mist-like fashion. Alex laughed sardonically, a memory from two months ago swelling up from the depths of her mind. The musty floorboards creaked as Alex moved across them, the volume of her anger apparent in every step. In fact, her rage seemed to literally manifest itself as swarms of tiny sparks scattering across her hair, like little electric dolphins. She stood over the woman, whimpering pathetically on the ground before her. To her, Alex must look terrifying, still fully dressed in her blood red coverings and tinted goggles. ”P-please, I'm s-s-sorry!” The woman wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks, cutting clean swathes through the otherwise dirt encrusted flesh. ”P-please No!” She cringed, curling up into a ball as best she could, with her hands still tied behind her back. Alex had taken a step closer, provoking the woman's plea. ”I do not enjoy being made a fool of Cassie!” Alex seethed, her body trembling with resistant as Alex stayed her hand, this woman could still be of use yet. ”Please Alex, I'm so sorry! Please!” Cassie plead, her terrified eyes searching for mercy, finding only the blackened glass of Alex's goggles. She squealed as Alex lifted her up by her dust colored shirt, that had probably been white once. She hung limply, most of her body resting on the floor still, with her tormentor close enough that Cassie could feel the hot breath on her face. ”There is only one purpose in my life Cass, do you even understand how much I paid you for that SHIT INFO?” Alex yelled once more, throwing the woman back. The frail brick wall cracked as her head ricocheted off of it. ”I'm Sorry! I-I'll pay you pack. I didn't know! It came from a reliable source!” This caught Alex's interest, ”Who?” ”A-alex.. you know.. I can't tell you that. They'll kill me.” ”I'll kill you,” Alex threatened, taking a large breath as she paced to the other side of the room. For a moment regret filled her body, muddled with confusion. Why was she so angry? She got bad information all of the time, two years ago it wouldn't have come down to this, savage torture. She looked upon the form of Cass, huddled against the wall, in nothing but a shirt, worn shoes, and a pair of brown khakis cut short enough to reveal the smallest hint of her plump bottom. ”Alex, please, show compassion.” Cass pleaded again, ”Please, I know you. This isn't you!” Alex turned away from her, tears welling up beneath her goggles. She felt the heavy pit of sadness growing in her middle, a weight of regret pressing heavily on her heart. ”Fuck..” Alex started, running a hand through her hair, feeling the static built up in it, ”Cassie.. I'm.. Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening anymore.” ”I won't say it's okay.. but.. maybe we can find you some help?” Cassie stood tentatively, her legs shaking, a small trickle of blood curling around her neck from the back of her head, staining her shirt as it encroached between her ample cleavage. ”Whatever it is, I know someone who can help get you off it. Alex pushed up her goggles, revealing the pure white orbs of her eyes as she wiped them with the back of her hand, her gloves sitting off in one corner of the old, empty room. There were no windows, the room was a slowly decaying box of brick and mortar, with a lamp hung in the middle. ”Off of it?” Alex asked curiously, wondering what exactly Cass was accusing her of. ”Yes, it's the smoke right? That hallucinogenic stuff Jackson cooks up?” ”You think I'm on drugs Cassie?” Alex questioned, her composure recovering slightly. ”What else could it be? I know at least two other people who get bouts of rage off that stuff.” Cassie limped over to Alex, her groin still aching but her compassion winning over her fear as she placed a gentle hand on Alex's shoulder. ”Drugs?! For fuck's sake Cassie! You know me better than that!” Alex half pleaded with her, ”I don't even smoke the normal stuff!” ”But.. Alex..” Cassie started, placing her other hand on Alex's opposite shoulder and squeezing lightly, ”You know I've never judged you.. you've always been a good girl to me.” Good girl.. ...good girl.. Alex shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. ”There's something wrong Cassie, I'm not in control of my own life.” ”I won't leave you Alex, we can fix you, there's got to be somebody who can help.” Cassie embraced Alex gently, hugging her. Forgiveness wrapping itself around her, convinced that it wasn't Alex's fault. It was her condition, her sickness. ”We can fix you.” ”We can fix you,” A rough, female voice said through the darkness, as Alex huddled naked on the floor, illuminated by the only source of light in the cold concrete room,“You may not be much now, but we can fix you,” The voice laughed, a cloud of smoke drifting across Alex's bare flesh, dampening her senses and making her feel warm and frightened at the same time. ”We can fix you, I promise.” ”That's a good girl Alex... just breath.” ”Alex?” ”Alex? Answer me. Alex? Alex flinched, expecting the lash of the cane against her body. Her breath caught and her teeth clenched, but the pain never came. She blinked, looking around her. ”Alex? What's wrong?” Cass asked, concerned. Alex shuddered, chills running through her spine. She fell to her knees, grasping her head in both hands, ”No... no.. no,no,no!” She whimpered, this time she felt it, physically felt it moving through her body. She tried to stop it, to force it down, to ignore it. She opened her mouth, she wanted Cass to run, to leave her here. ”Alex it's alright! We're going to make it through this.. together!” Alex hated them. She hated them so much for what they did to her. She was no longer in control of her life, she didn't know how to be. She needed control. No, she needed to be controlled. No, she was free now, free of them, free of that hell. No! It always plagued her, followed her, tormented her. And how she hated them, how they caused rage to boil in her blood, and her heart to beat with wrath. Thump... Thump... Her heart beat. ”Alex?” ”Alexia?” Alex looked up, her hands falling to her lap, ”What did you call me?” Cassie knelt next to her, embracing her, ”Alexia.” The voice said, drowning out Cass. No, it was Cass, the voice, wasn't it? She was one of them, one of the demons from her past. She hadn't killed them at! She had missed one, and now she was here, to seduce her back into the maw of hell! ”Get off of me!” Alex seethed, shrugging away from Cassie. ”Alex! Please! I'm only trying to help you!” ”I said NO! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Alex screeched, electricity violently erupting from her. Cass screamed, falling back and scrambling away from the explosive torrents of energy quickly, until her back was pressed once more to the wall her head had been cracked on earlier. ”ALEX! PLEASE! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!” She screamed, straining to be heard over the cacophony of destruction happening around her. The room shook, debris falling from the ceiling in clouds of dust. At this rate the room was going to collapse. A chunk of brick dislodged itself from the ceiling, landing a few inches from Cassie's leg. ”ALEX STOP!” Something swirled through Alex's mind. Like a tornado of wrath clouding her senses. Her vision wavered, and a wave of nausea wracked her body as she tried to stand, making her fall to her knees again. Her vision blurred, darkening, as if the light in the room was slowly dimming. There was a voice screaming in the distance, but it was of no matter. There was only the pain. The immense pain flowing their her body, like live embers crawling beneath her skin. Her heart pumped desperately in her chest as the electric flow around Alex reversed itself. Dramatically the expulsion of energy stopped, ceasing all together for just a moment. A whirring buzz filled the room. A terrified Cass watched as the light bulb exploded from its place in the haphazardly swinging lamp. But the room quickly lit up anyways as Alex pulled the surrounding energies into herself. Cassie could her the faint sounds of light bulbs popping in other rooms, barely audible. The tide of energy swirled around Alex, diving into her body as it erupted from the cables running through the floors and walls. Tendrils of blue energy snaking out from power sockets and light fixtures. Outside the late evening streetlights erupted with the surge of energy being pulled through the conduits that fed them. The whole block wavered, the tell-tale sounds of buzzing and flickering lights indicating an abnormal flow of energy. ”ALEX! WHAT'S HAPPENING!?” Alex couldn't speak, she was rendered speechless inside her own vortex of energy, gathering inside her until she felt as if she would burst. That's exactly what it felt like, as if she were about to explode from the inside out. She didn't understand what was happening, it was as if she wasn't in control of herself. As if something were trying to tear it away from her. She screamed. Her voice carried the weight of the world off of her shoulders. She stood slowly, the weight of the gathering energies threatening to push her back down. She screamed again and lightning erupted from her hands, blasting chunks of concrete from the floor. For a moment she felt the tiny bit of relief that releasing energy brought. She could fight this, she could stabilize and bring herself back under control. She screamed again, her raw emotion snatching back control of herself. This time the cyclone of electricity stopped all together, the whole block falling into the dead black of a power outage. She had siphoned this block dry, it was all gathered inside her, ready to tear her apart, to consume her. Her heart smashed a painful chorus in her chest. The pain of it adding to the raw, primal control she had seized. Cassie opened her mouth tentatively once more, her body trembling, ”Alex..?” And then the whole world seemed to erupt around her. Cassie felt the wave of roiling energy burn its way across her body, faster than she could scream. Her body fell limply towards the earth as the wave of energy swept through the building, blowing out already weakened walls. The wave stopped, a circle of roiling energy backtracking violently towards the conduit it had come from. The wave smashed into Alex's body, causing her to stumble. Though she did not fall, through no power of her own, held up only by the sheer velocity of the column of power violently dispersing from her body into the darkening sky. The late evening's veil of gathering darkness pierced only by the soft glow of the city, and the beam of electric energy shooting through the clouds. It lasted only one, violent moment as Alex regained control of herself. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she fell to the floor. It was amazing that there was even a floor to fall to. Cassie was gone, thrown out of the now shattered brick wall into the gloomy streets below. ”So much for love,” Alex wheezed, crawling her way to the door, which was gone. The frame still stood, barely, and Alex used it to lift herself onto her unsteady feet. Sweat dripped off her forehead as she did so, and her heart beat with a force the wracked her chest with pain. For a moment it seemed to stop, an icy chill gathering itself around her body. She panicked, searching for some form of electricity, grabbing onto a faint, distant pulse of power. A quick blue flash arrived, leaping into her body, restarting her heart beneath the hand clutching at her chest. A brief wave of dizziness mixture with another of nausea passed through her was the warmth returned to her body. She slowly made her way to exit the building, before any undesirables arrived. She stumbled down the cracked, dark hallways, with their columns of dust still hanging in the air. She felt sick, like she was about to throw up. By the time she reached the exit, she did. Twice. The sight of Cassie's blackened body brought on a third bout of vomiting. Alex turned away remorsefully, sadness pulling at her heart. She would miss Cassie, dearly, but she didn't have time to dwell on what she'd done. She had to get out of here.

Considering his current rifle was a poorly built and maintained piece of scrap, Ulver was particularly thankful that the Peacekeepers of Aspin had loaned him a long range rifle with a scope. Ulver was sat on top of the tallest building in the residential district. Around him were 3 other spotter teams of Peacekeepers, each watching their own directions, shifting side to side. The effort to catch the bandit, who the public had nicknamed ‘The Red Robber’, was very apparent, with the streets nearly empty, with a small amount of people quickly walking through the streets, careful not to look too long at the squad of snipers on the building. From the streets, the snipers were nearly invisible, if not for the minor glow of their night vision scope shining on their faces, but even those with cat eyes would find that near impossible to see. They remained mostly still, the spotters and snipers holding their own personal conversations in whispers, occasionally calling positions of suspicious looking people to their partners and then squadmates. Ulver watched silently on his appointed section of town, which was where a majority of the crimes had happened. Those streets were especially dead, with not a single desert soul out and about. All the inhabitants were nestled in their houses, sheltered from the bitter cold of desert nights, and the possible armed bandit roaming streets. Ulver and his spotter didn’t speak much, as the spotter was particularly nervous around the Immortal. When they were coming up to the roof, the young spotter, named Jonze, flinched at nearly every sudden move Ulver made, and looked particularly horrified when the Quartermaster handed Ulver a sniper rifle. He didn’t hold it against the young man, though. He’d probably be terrified, were he in the spotter’s shoes. With one foot on top of his helmet and his rifle in arms, Ulver stared out at the empty streets through his scope, his old AK set on the wall beside him. Jonze, standing a distance farther than the most of the teams were away from Ulver, was watching and scanning just as intently, suspicious of any waking movement or shifting shadow. The street lights across the city gave everything a dull yellow glow showering every street corner, with the spaces between almost pitch black where the light didn't reach. “Hey, Jonz-” The spotter jumped at the mere sound of Ulver talking “Wh-what?” He spouted out, half irritated, half terrified. “Just keep your eyes peeled for a second, gotta get something out of my bag.” Ulver said, trying his hardest not to laugh. “Yeah, yeah, got ya.” Jonze said, staring back out at the city. Ulver smirked at Jonze when he turned back around, and proceeded to set his rifle against the knee-high wall in front of him. He slid his backpack off, and unzipped it, extracting the beauty of a tequila bottle that he had acquired earlier, setting it on the wall and putting his backpack back on. The young spotter heard the tink of the bottle hitting the brick, and turned, amazed by what he saw. “Uh. I don’t think you should be drinking on a job like this, dude.” “Look, without me, there wouldn’t be much of a job to do, considering no one before me could get it done. I’ll do the fuck I want.” He said, a dead pan face solidifying his point. Jonze swallowed and didn’t respond, simply nodding in agreement and turning around. Ulver broke into a chuckle, before being hushed and told to shut the fuck up by the other teams. He kept his smile and bumped Jonze on the shoulder, another action that made the spotter jump in fright. He motioned the bottle toward him, and smiled. “Take sip, kid. You need it.” Hesitating at first, Jonze ended up taking the bottle, and took a deep swig, before handing it back. Ulver pat Jonze on the back, before taking a suitable swing for himself, and setting the bottle on the wall, picking his rifle back up. Ulver peered back through his scope, scanning the dark streets again. Jonze perked up, his voice a complete opposite as before. “We got a fast mover, right of the general store, moving leftwards.” Ulver quickly lowered his rifle, found the general store, and brought his rifle back up, taking a moment, before finding the man that Jonze alerted them to. He was of a medium height, but that’s all Ulver could tell, as the man was covered nearly head to toe in a large dark trenchcoat, hat and facial mask. (Similar to this The man moved almost alarmingly fast, as if he were sprinting down the street. Even in the windless night, the tail of his trenchcoat flared and fluttered as the man sped down the street. “Whoa, holy shit, we got another fast one.” Jonze said. “In front of the first, down the street. Mohawk.” Ulver quickly jerked his rifle to the left, seeing the other man moving towards the first. This man wasn’t as heavily dressed, even underdressed in a sleeveless shirt. He had a large mohawk jutting from his head, something rare nowadays, with hair gel being scarce. The two men finally met, with the man in the trench coat passing something off with lightening speed to the mohawked man. A molotov cocktail. “Ho-ly shit. Mohawk’s got a molotov. Get the fucking teams out now, tell them to catch trenchcoat.” Ulver said. The team captain responded by grabbing his radio, and harshly whispering. “Alpha and Charlie teams, we have a contact, red trench coat, medium height, hat and mask, moving north on Pinter street. He’s moving fast, catch and detain him. Take him alive for questioning. “ The men began to move out of the bulding below the sniper teams, their flashlights illuminating the streets in front of them. Ulver’s scope was focused on mohawk, as his paced had slowed, as if he was nearing his objective. Finally, he made his move. He walked up to the storefront, and pulled his arm back, taking a whopping punch at the front glass, shaterring it in a single blow, and he moved in. “Fuck, Mohawk just broke into the store. Do the owners live in there?” Ulver saked Jonze. “Shit, yeah they do.” He said, scared. “Wait, did you say he broke into the store? That’s fucking plate glass, holy shit. You need to get down there, dude.” “Right.” Ulver said, switching his rifle for this AK, and rushing to the elevator that led to the ground floor. Before the door on the elvator closed, he looked at the sniper teams. “Keep me posted, and keep me covered.” He said, nodding once, flipping the safety on his rifle off. The men nodded at him, and then the elevator doors shut. --- Ulver sprinted up up to the corner of a brick wall. Right around the corner, was the store front that was currently being ravaged. A few Peacekeepers fell in behind Ulver in a tactical fashion, and waited for his lead. Soon, he was off the corner, approaching the store front, his rifle fixed on the hole in the glass. A few cautious steps forward, and into the glass hole, mohawk was in Ulver’s iron sights, the entire storefront lit by the flashlights behind him.. “FREEZE, SHITBIRD!” Ulver shouted, the Peacekeepers taking positions behind him. Mohawk was positioned behind the front counter tearing through the register. His gaze slowly found its way up, facing the men.”[b]GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND![b]” A Peacekeeper shouted, getting closer, alongside Ulver. Mohawk simply stared at the men, a crazed look filling his purple eyes. Ulver’s train of thought was completely derailed the moment he saw mohawk’s eyes. This was no mere bandit. This was an Immortal. His hand shot up, his fist clenching, as bottles flew from one side of the room into the other, slamming into Ulver’s right side, shattering loudly, glass showering the men. A few shards found their way and burrowed into Ulver’s arms and face, sending him down to the ground on his left side. A man behind him scremed in pain, and rolled around the ground, as the two Peacekeepers behind them began to open fire. The Immortal pulled his fist up, and thousands of shards of glass from all over came and formed a makeshift shield in front of him. Bullets tinged and flinged off, bouncing off the floor and walls, no longer lethal. Ulver couldn’t do much but hide his face, and try to crawl behind a shelf to find shelter from the storm of bullets and glass shards. “YOU CAN’T HIDE SANDMAN!” Mohawk screamed in a shrill, insane voice. A glass shard flew through the shelf, striking Ulver in the back of his shoulder. Ulver responded with a loud bellow of pain, pitching forward onto his stomach, trying to crawl away from the storm of glass shards soaring through the weak wooden shelves. Ulver rolled over what little he could, pointed his rifle at the shelves, and began emptying his entire magazine into the shelves and room behind it. He could hear the Immortal shriek in pain, a loud thump. It was then that the two peacekeepers had been incapacitated for the time being, crawling away from the store front, while the third laid dead on the ground near where Ulver had stood mere seconds before. It was suddenly silent, and Ulver could hear shuffling in the direction of the register. He tossed his rilfe aside, and slowly but surely pulled out Roger from his sheathe, cocking it with his left hand, then tossing it up and cathing the handle in the same hand. He found his shaky way up to his feet, and began limping towards the register. With each step he dragged forward, the crawling Immortal came more and more into view. His knee and chest had both been shot a few times, leaving him rather immobilized. Ulver sighed, and slowly shuffled around the counter, towards mohawk. The two injured men carried on their injured pace, a stripe of crimson on the floor to mark the path they took. One shuffled on his sore and painful legs, with shards of jagged glass jutting from his body in numerous places. The other dragged his way across a dirty and trash covered floor, using his one good leg to push himself a few feet at a time. Ulver finally caught up to the escaping bandit, pressing a boot down firmly on his wounded knee. A pained groan rose out of the man, and he squirmed and struggled to escape Ulver’s grasp. “Wh-what the fuck do you want from me?!?” Mohawk cried, in great pain. “Who do you work for?” Ulver said, his finger sliding along Roger’s cold, metal trigger guard. “I don’t work for fucking anybody man, just let me go!” Mohawk pleaded. “Bullshit, no regular bandit would attack a capital city like this. I know you fucking savages, I was one of you.” Ulver said, his rough voice growing impatient. “No, no, man, I swear, I don’t have anything to do those guys! I’m just trying to stay alive!” “Starving bandits don’t usually murder the people they rob, asshole, don’t you bullshit me.” He ground his boot deeper into the bandits wound, a yell of pain escpaing the bandit’s mouth. The bandit panted in pain.”Alright! Alright! I’m fucking Forsaken! Oh fuck, they’re going to fucking kill me, man, c’mon just kill me. They’re not going to make it easy on me.” “No, no, no, you don’t get out that easy, asshole. What do they want in Apsin?” “I don’t fucking know man! Th-they just got a bunch of us, Immortals like you and I. They were giving everyone assignements, and they told me to come and just wreak havoc here in Aspin. Asides from that, I- I don’t know anything else.” “Are you telling me The Forsaken Order has a group of Immortals under their command?” Ulver said, quieter now, stunned. “I- I don’t know, it seemed like some petty shit to me, but I know they had a few. Past the orders they gave me, I- I don’t know anything else! Please, kill me!” The bandit pleaded, beginning to sob. Ulver stared at the back of the man’s head, mostly in disbelief. What kinda crazy shit could the Forsaken be doing with a group of Immortals? That can’t mean anything other than bad for the rest of us. “Come on, let’s get you to a hospital, asshole.” Ulver saidm beginning to pull the man off the ground. “NO!” The man screeched, his arms flexing and his fist clenching. Ulver heard something move in the room behind him, but before he could react, a few small glass shards stabbed him in the back. Ulver dropped the man, and stumbled to the side in pain. The bandit was able to hop up on one leg, and started trying to limp out of the back door, falling along the way. Ulver rushed forward, shotgun in hands, and shot the bandit. A shower of crimon flew as blood spewed from the gaping wound in the man’s soulder. The red paint was accompanied with a scream, and other shot, disabling his other arm. Ulver ran over and delivered a sharp kick to the bandit’s chest, a final blow landing on the bandit’s face, finally tipping him off the cliff of consciousness into the abyss of a comatose unconciousness. Another team of Peacekeepers rushed in securing the scene, rushing away the nearly dead bandit, with a few carrying off the body of their fallen comrade. Most ignored Ulver completely, until walked out and grabbed a paramedic by the collar and made a convincing enough death threat to receive medical attention. As he sat, the medics pulling glass fragments out of his cheek, he chuckled. “Shoulda worn my fucking helmet.”

The heat retardant suit only did so much to ward off the inescapable heat. Sweat beaded and rolled down her face and body in torrents. She carefully manipulated the controls, watching as the vessel of steel made its way to the furnace for melting. She adjusted another control, watching as the lid of the blast furnace lifted up, exposing the glowing metal within. The white hot glow of the molten steel dimmed everything else in the factory, she squinted at the controls, trying to make out which was which. Looking up, she saw that the container of unmelted steel was in position, and tugged the release lever. To her horror, any splashing that might have occured was obscured by a giant cloud steam, only barely visible in the extreme light. “Get back!” She screamed fruitlessly at the other workers, inaudible over the hiss of steam and roar of the furnace. She found the small necklace around her neck and clutched it tight, running as fast as her legs could ca- The furnace exploded with a deafening blast, molten steel erupting as the platform she’d been on only seconds ago was engulfed in angry flurries of metal. Globs of steel flew from the furnace and buried two people, she couldn’t see their faces, but she knew they were screaming. She glanced back in terror as the furnace erupted again, belching out more globs of molten met- She screamed shrilly as she fell writhing to the ground covered in steel. The suit was no use, it burned straight through, vaporizing chunks of her body as it blasted off of every exposed inch of her in explsions of steam and glowi- Vladimira gasped as her eyes shot open revealing no molten metal, no exploding furnaces, no screams. Just sand. She wasn’t dead. Wasn’t dying covered in molten metal. The harsh noon day sun beat down from on high as she pushed aside the flap of the small tent. Ideally she’d have slept until it began to darken and she could travel with the cool air of the night instead of the scorching kiln that was Dust at midday. She grumbled as she crawled back into the tent, it was much nicer inside it, shaded by a small hillock as it was. She dragged her rucksack and rifle out, resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep for a while. “Getting more frequent.” She sighed to herself, folding up the tent. It was probably a good thing she’d woken when she did anyway. There were always Forsaken or bandits who would welcome the chance to rob her blind or try enslaving her while she slept. Which would have turned out poorly for them regardless. ______________________________________ Vladimira was scrounging around in an old car she’d glimpsed in the distance, stripping it of anything useful, including some parts of the steel chassis that appeared to have more or less escaped rust. There wasn’t much in there, some old 9mm rounds next to what had probably been a handgun at some poin next to the hand of the skeleton splayed haphazardly in the front seat, a single spent casing lying on the floor. There were some things of at least marginal use; some copper wiring, the aforementioned 9mm bullets for use as money, and… a lot of canned food. She pulled herself out of the car, examining the cans she’d found in a plastic lined bag. Ham, corn, rice, bread, all in all there were maybe ten cans of varying sizes. She wondered if their contents were even remotely edible… they probably weren’t, maybe she’d trade them for something more useful, she had some food already. The copper wiring might be useful for someone doing electrical work or something, it wasn’t her area of expertise. The scrap metal of the car though, that definitely pleased her. Good quality old world stuff too. She examined a chunk of it in her hands, near as she could tell, it was a high carbon alloy. Definitely much nicer than the scrap she usually fou- Clods of dirt kicked up next to her as short bursts of staccato gunfire sounded from nearby. She glanced around wildly, looking for a direction. More gunfire from what seemed a cluster of boulders near a small hill convinced her to shelter behind the engine block of the old car. She pulled Comrade over her head, disengaging the safety. Sliding to a stop behind the chassis, she peeked out from behind it to get a better look at the hill and its cluster of boulders. The sun was too bright to see any muzzle flash, but she could see who was shooting at her just fine. She might not have been close enough to get a nice up close view of the whites of their eyes, but she could easily tell they were Forsaken. Fucking tribal raiders. Several shots hit the car, forcing her to duck down as one buried itself in the engine block uncomfortably close to her face. Risking a glance back up, she noticed a couple of them appeared to be running towards her, though she couldn’t see what they carried on them. She hefted Comrade, propping the rifle up on the car. There were three Forsaken running at her, and two more still shooting at her. Just as she was about to put a bullet in one of them a sudden pain hit her in the back, stunning her momentarily. She whirled around once her head had cleared, barely catching another punch from a sixth Forsaken on the armored bit of her glove. Eyes blank and unseeing, gentle rivulets of blood flowing down a spike of steel. Two belt pouches flew open, their contents floating out and hovering between her and the Forsaken. The scrap metal clumped together in a jagged spike of steel as she clenched a fist. Gripping the Forsaken’s arm, she twisted it sharply and brought her knee to his gut, a sardonic smirk on her face as she heard his elbow crack. Flipping him into the door of the car she drove the spike of steel into his neck, pinning him there like a macabre wall ornament. Another Forsaken ran at her screaming and swinging an old rusted axe. Bloodied steel. One outstreched hand spasming limply. A crimson puddle slowly leaking out…Ducking his wild swings, she rolled over the hood now pockmarked with bullet holes. She gripped the hood of the car and ripped it off, sending it flying at him. The piece of steel wrapped around the Forsaken as she opened her hand, and crushed him to a bloody pulp as she clenched it. She grinned maliciously at the crunch of bones and the lumpy red stream pouring from the hole in the bottom. She twirled the bloody steel burrito in the air with grim amusement before letting it fall to the ground. Pulling her Tokarevs she faced the next Forsaken, screaming at the top of her lungs as she charged with an old piece of pipe. Slumped against a rock, spasming gently. Brilliant red blood slowly oozing into the sand from the bullet holes in her chest. Vladimira pulled the triggers, blasting bits of lead and copper into the charging Forsaken, driving her boot into the face of the woman as she fell in front of her. A white hot spike of pain shot from her leg as the last Forsaken to run at her from the hill sank his knife into her thigh. Throwing her body weight on him, she tore his hand off the knife and pulled it out of her leg. He kicked her in the gut, winding her as he pushed her off. Pulling another knife from his belt, his eyes widened in shock as both that knife and the one he’d lost shot towards him, burying themselves in his chest. Vladimira breathed a sigh of relief, cut short as more rounds impacted the sand near her. She scrambled for the cover of the car’s engine block, grabbing her pistols as she did so. Comrade was still there, and now there wasn’t anything to contend with in a melee. She hefted the rifle, laying it on the engine as she took aim at the two Forsaken shooting at her. One of them looked to be in the middle of reloading, and the other seemed to be fumbling with a bolt. Lining up her sights with the reloding Forsaken, she squeezed the trigger, grinning as the figure crumpled. A bullet impacted close to her hand and she pulled back again, racking the bolt. She popped back up over the car, firing off a shot at the Forsaken and ducking back down again. Peeping over the top, she saw the sillouhette aiming in her direction and crouched back down. She crawled over to the other side of the car and leaned out, holding her breath as she gently squeezed the trigger. She didn’t check to see if the shot hit but dipped below the top of the car once more. ____________________________ The sun was beginning to set as Vladimira trudged across the desert, occasionally checking her compass to keep her bearings. The Forsaken hadn’t had much of worth on them, some dirty .45 ammunition and rifles that looked like they’d been scrapped together from pipes and rotten wood. Still, steel pipes she could use. She’d left the bodies of the Forsaken where they’d fallen, though she had taken the spike she’d used to kill the first one. Comrade was slung over her shoulder, she’d need to clean the rifle before she went to sleep tonight, pistols too. She reached up and turned on her headlamp, glancing around at the darkening landscape. The lights of Russel City stood out against the desert, only a few hours to go before she could sell off her salvage. _______________________ The Wings had seemed distracted when she passed through the gate, only throwing the barest of security checks at her. They hadn’t even asked her to remove her mask. Wonder what’s happened? Walking through the slums of Russel City, she noticed the people on the street had a different air than last time she’d been here. Something’s definitely happened. She crept across the streets, keeping a hand on one of her guns. The street up ahead was strangely empty except for a mishapen lump in the streetlight. What looked like a torn piece of rope hung forlornly from the same light. She neared the lump, an eyebrow raising as she came across a mutilated body, barely recognizable as such were it not for the skin and general shape. Her eyes fell on a portion of the lump of meat that was missing… Vladimira looked up and glanced about, then back down at the body. What the hell had happened here?

Bento stood on the roof of a two story combined general store and apartment located across the street from the Bitches Brew club. He rather liked roofs. They gave you a good sense of the surrounding area, and let you scope out potential exits and escape routes. They also let someone like him make exceptionally good time, jumping and running across rooftops with ease. But the best part was that despite the various dangers of the Dust, and especially a city like this one, nobody ever thinks to look up… By this time however, tactics were the last thing on Bento’s mind. His flask was nearly empty, and though the opiates were nearly out of his system by now, the combination had left him a little looser than he probably should have been, walking into a den of thieves. Then again, he was also too loose to stop himself either. He quickly drew his revolver and checked to make sure everything was working properly, an old habit from his days as a scout. When he was finished, the Immortal dropped down into an empty alley, softening his fall with a quick gust of wind. As he walked out into the street, Bento put his gun back in its holster and straightened up his vest and shirt as he made his way towards the door. Stepping in from the harsh streets of Russell City, Bento nearly lost his cool, coming to a full stop just inside the door. As he looked around, the club felt like it was from another world, the floors literally paved with gold. He was nearly swept away for a moment before catching himself, realizing what the club really was. The club wasn’t selling food and liquor or drugs and whores; the club was selling hope. It sold the illusion of luxury, a word most believed had been lost in the fires that had ravaged the earth long ago. The decorations were designed to make you forget the fact that you were paying for piss with a handful of bullets. He doubted a girl like Lucania understood the lie, having had it sold to her since the day she was born, but Leoluca… He had been in the city long enough to see the truth. Bento waved down the bartender and found a small table in the corner, where he was provided with his very own glass of piss. He tossed the drink back in one go and paid for two. If they were selling the dreams of another world, the Immortal would swallow them gladly. The Lord only knew, he hadn’t slept in a long, long time… "Shots!" A shrill voice yelled, "Three of 'em! Move your ass!" She slammed her hands against the table to make a point. "Miss Castalia..." replied a sobering voice from a bar jerk, "Are you sure that's the--" "Ohhh..." Lucy stood from her seat, barely maintaining her balance, "OHHH! Are you denying me service, fica!?" She pointed a lazy finger at the worker, "You work for me, if you fuckin' forgot! Or what?" she slurred, "Do you want me to stop my sis's make-out sesh to tell her you didn't get me a fuckin' drink?" In an instant, the waitresses was gone, preparing drinks for her life. As Lucy sunk back into her seat, giggles came from across the table. "What the fuck are you laughing at, Diane?" "Just..." She snorted, blowing out the cannabis smoke, "Ah mean, she's right. Maybe ya should slow down." "Fuck all that!" Lucy removed a vial of a white powdery substance from her purse, "Tonight we fuckin' party!" Diane tilted her head, stifling her laughter she managed to ask, "What's that?" "Gaen fuckin' blow! The best of the best..." She eyed the vial, before looking over to Diane, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, "...And you're gonna do it with me!" Diane shrugged in between her giggles, "Nah." "And why not, bitch?" Lucy pouted, "You've already smoked enough green to put down a desert-beast..." Diane coughed, "Weed ain't a drug." She extinguished the roach in an ashtray, immediately after lighting up another blunt, "'Sides, Ah gotta least pretend like Ahm a responsible adult here..." "Ugh!" Lucy exaggerated her sigh, "Well I'm not doing it all alone this time..." She scanned the room, looking for potential partners, her eyes erratically shifting from table to table, her body was already shivering from the various chemicals she'd already forced into her body, "Hey you!" She had found her match. A rugged, long haired man sat alone a few tables away, he looked like he could use a stimulant. "Hey!" Lucy practically ran through the room to the table, with a red-eyed Diane following slowly behind, "Hey--" She came to a stop, addressing the windswept man, "It's your lucky day stranger! I have waaaaaaaay too much for just one person," Lucy dangled the vial of white between them, "Wanna get high?" Staring into the bottom of his glass, Bento examined the golden liquid, studying it intensely as if attempting to learn its secrets. His concentration was so completely focused on watching the refractions caused by the drink he failed to catch the scene going on at the bar. All that mattered was peering through the distorted image and learning the true nature of the glass. If only God’s illusions were as easy to decipher as those of mere men. The exercise was pointless, of course. Picking up the glass, Bento swirled the sweet nectar with an easy motion of the wrist before taking another sip. Warmth filled his body as he started to notice his movements becoming looser, a sense of ease washing over him. He could feel his muscles finally relaxing as the tension of a life lived hard slowly began to recede, even if just for a time. Suddenly he heard a voice calling out, and saw for the first time the beautiful woman-or girl rather-nearly charging him from the other side of the room. Reflex took over as his hand dropped to his thigh with practiced ease, the gun cocked and halfway out of its holster before he could even register she was unarmed. By the time she had reached the table Bento let out a sigh of relief as he eased the hammer back down and let the gun rest in its holster once more. Though the rapid hit of adrenaline was still fighting back the effects of the booze, the Immortal remained characteristically unshaken. “Do I want to get high?” He repeated, half stalling and half seriously asking himself. Who was this girl? Was she a whore? No, the dress was far too nice. For the same reason he doubted she was trying to steal his stuff, after all, she looked like she had enough money to feed the whole slum district. Besides, from the looks of things he had at least 7-8 inches on her, and probably about 100 pounds. He was confident that he could handle whatever she threw at him. “Sure... Maybe I’ll even show you how to fly...” He agreed! Lucy's face lit up like a dog being given a treat. She almost didn't know how to respond to someone actually agreeing to a thing--anything she had said. Her psyche was one entirely accustomed to being shot down. She turned to Diane, an expectant child to a helpless mother; Diane gave a dazed-shrug, looking around herself, completely unsure of what protocol she was supposed to be taking in this situation. Lucy's nights out were both legendary and too numerous to count, typically; they consisted of heavy substance abuse, Lucy's fruitless search for companionship, more substance abuse, and usually ended in a fight. Unless it ever got heated to the point of shots being fired, Lucy was typically more than capable of taking care of herself. But still, each night, she was assigned a protector by her sister. Although they were always instructed step in to take a bullet if the situation ever called for it. The situation never did. It never would. Lucy's 'protectors' were nothing more than reminders. A misguided message from an overprotective sister to those who would try to harm her little sister Lucina. The message? Something like; 'The Don's bloody sleeved enforcer is watching.' Lucy took a seat across from the man, still beaming like an idiot. New city, new rules, apparently. People here didn't fear Lucia like they did in Serenity-- for Lucy, this was something of a new start, and an absolute first. She actually felt a bit nervous. Luckily for them all, the waitress managed to find their table with the windswept stranger as Diane slouched into another seat at the table. "Show me how to fly, huh?" She downed a shot, "Like-- volare? I'd like to see that, old timer" She swallowed the two remaining shots, spilling a good bit of them. She found it easy to ignore the pain, the taste, and just focus on the warmth that seemed to spread in her body because of them. Slamming down the last glass on the table, she squinted to get a better view of the man across the table from her, "Whoa!" She slurred, "You're like, one of those Immortal guys! Like Lucia, right?" Bento raised an amused eyebrow as the girl looked back at the woman who was obviously her keeper, as if asking for permission. The older woman acquiesced with a simple shrug of the shoulders. That was a new one… Bento knew there was something he was still missing, but in his inebriated state he struggled to connect the various oddities. As the girl sat down across the table he couldn’t help but notice the strange combination of excitement and unfamiliarity that she wore across her face. In that moment she looked not unlike a puppy being shown a new environment. Bento only hoped that she wouldn’t piss herself, either figuratively or-God forbid-literally. It was hard to imagine why, watching the girl throwing back three shots in quick succession, carrying a vial fully of cocaine, but all the old Immortal could see was innocence, bleeding from her eyes. She wasn’t like the other patrons of the bar, broken souls burying themselves in vice, cowering in fear of a harsh, brutal world. She was naïve, lost and alone in the empty space between the world she understood, and the world she inhabited. Much- “Like Lucia, right?” Dear God. She’s a Castalia… Inside, the realization hit him hard, like a punch to the face; his expression however, remained unchanged. What had he gotten himself into, he wondered? It was too late now, he would have to make the best of the situation. Besides, for the first time in a long time he actually pitied the poor girl. “Yes, very much like your sister, Lucia. But I would be careful who you talk about Immortality with… Talk like that can get you killed around here.” He answered, throwing the rest of his drink back and slowly lowering his glasses before removing them altogether and placing them down on the table. He revealed tendrils of grey traveled across his eyes in intricate patterns. “Tell me, do your sister’s eyes look like this?” He asked, the deep baritone softening as his voice lowered. Lucy leaned on her arm as she stretched, half-way in her seat, half-way out, across the table to view the man's eyes. Entirely due to her inebriation, she hadn't been able to really to get a good look at the man before that moment. He was older, that much had been obvious, but he hadn't just experienced life, she could see it in the scars and blemished on his face. He was a calloused man, obviously shaped and scarred by the world around him, he didn't just survive, he actively fought life to claim some control of his own. His eyes, like gray swirling sandstorms, only told one chapter in a book detailing a story of a lifetime of struggles she would probably never even comprehend. He was here though; the bar, with the silver spoon junkie, willing to further pollute his mind with strong and silent demeanor. Whoa. That was the longest Lucy had managed to focus on any single thought train the entire evening-- the moment quickly ended as her arm wobbled, gave, and she fell face first onto the table. Diane giggled, several seconds after the fact. "Shut the fuck up, Diane..." She half-responded, falling back in her seat, she looked back to the rugged man rekindling her excitement, "Nope!" She waved her hand in the air, dismissing the notion, "Lucania's eyes are mostly normal, they just like... change. With whatever she's feeling, y'know? She's fuckin' garbage at poker. Nah, Your eyes are waaaayy cooler." "Anyway!" She uncorked the vial, carefully pouring the powder onto the table with a practiced precision, "I'd, like, wanna know the name of the guy who's gonna teach me to fuckin' fly!" Ignoring the girl’s small trouble with the table, Bento took note of her description of Lucania’s eyes. In his experiences with Immortals it seemed like the changes that their eyes typically underwent tended to reflect their powers in some way. Perhaps she had some sort of appearance shifting power, he guessed. Regardless, it was valuable information that the color of her eyes could indicate her feelings. Still, he wasn’t dealing with Lucania at the moment; he was dealing with her younger sister. “Cullen.” He lied, pulling a huge knife from its sheath behind him and expertly scooped up a line of coke with the it. “And yours?” He asked offhandedly, as he raised the coke to his face and snorted the line down the edge of the blade. “God, how the hell does a kid get coke like this?!” He said, tossing his head to reset his focus as the drug’s effects started to kick in almost immediately. "Lucy!" She shot back at Cullen, associating name with face. He had no reservations in taking his own share of the white horse, and seemed rather practiced in using it. Lucy was impressed, Cullen took a hard line from the edge of the knife, as if the action was reflex. She wondered if it was some kind of muscle memory. Was she like that? "Fuckin' Gaens," She answered the question, "We got 'em getting it from the plant or whatever. It's purer than the street stuff' all I know.."focusing on her razor and the perfect line that rested on the table before her. The world froze and her left nostril felt a fire, but only for the second before the blow hit her system. She shot up, flinging her head back, as if the chemicals had physically assaulted her. Her body tingled with warmth, and her pupils stretched to consume her irises. Her worries felt like sand in the wind, and the sun shone nothing but pleasantries upon her body. Her smile widened. "Whoooo!!!" She clasped her hands, meeting Cullen's high, but still world-weary gaze with her own young, heavily dilated eyes. "Yeah!! Waaaaaaayyy purer! That is good shit!" Her hands came together again, as if applauding the drug's creating, "You go fuckin' Gaens!!!" The looseness from the alcohol completely disappeared, replaced with a sharp focus and incredible power. He had no reservations about anything, willing to take on anything, especially more alcohol. It wasn’t hard to get his hands on any, as the bartender had already been paying close attention to the duo. Meeting her gaze, Bento found Lucy’s youthful excitement was strangely endearing. Her innocence in the face of such a terrible, terrible world reminded him of a sunset which cast it’s soft orange glow into the mouth a cave he would never leave. But then again, what was left for a sun, but to burn out and die. Two glasses arrived and Bento pulled out a bag of pills and shook two out on the table. Taking up his knife again, the Immortal expertly chopped one up into quarters before using the bottom of the handle to crush them further. Just as easily as he had scooped up the cocaine, he used the knife to lift the crushed powder and dump it into his drink, using the blade to stir it in. “The best part about coke is that you can get fucked up twice.” He said, a slight smile escaping onto his face as he prepared the second drink. “No need to worry, it’s just oxy… Now how about you tell me what it’s like to be a Castalia kid?” He added, lifting the drink closer to him in preparation to clink glasses with one of the wealthiest people in the Dust. "This how you fly?" Lucy's expression was piquant, but observant. She noted the easy manner in which he made the oxycontin cocktails, even in the high, she could tell when she had things to learn from a person. More or less, Cullen certainly seemed like he knew his shit. Her thoughts bounced around in her head, and as her focus revolved and shifted, all she really cared about was trying the drink. If it could take her further away, then it was worth a shot. "Castalia kid?" Despite herself, her left eye twitched as he asked his question, "Honestly I couldn't fuckin' tell you..." She touched her glass to his before taking a swig, "Only part of me that's Castalia is the ammo they give me!" Bento took a long drink, letting out an amused, yet somewhat annoyed grunt. She hadn’t answered the question he asked. He wasn’t interested in her daddy issues, but perhaps she wasn’t aware of the divide that existed between them. Perhaps she didn’t even know what it meant to be a Castalia kid herself. Bento wasn’t going to press it any further though, if she felt like opening up then she would, otherwise he wasn’t going to ruin the high forcibly squeezing a revelation out of her. “This ain’t flying, kid. This is the counter to the coke; it’ll bring your heart rate back down and get rid of that nasty tension. In a little bit you’ll start to feel the fluidity and the euphoria, but the coke will keep you from getting sleepy.” He explained, tipping back the rest of the drink like water. “Now we just have to decide if we’re going to go to another world, or tear this one up.” The higher he got, the easier it became to consume more. He was still in control at the moment, but by the end of the night he was hoping to change that. Lucy could raise a glass to that! "Tear it up!" she took a swig of her drink, letting the chemical cocktail of drugs wash over her. The glass sloshed with the liquid in her hand as it left her mouth, for a single sober moment, she began, "Y'know..." she chugged the rest of the of, despite the burn, "You prolly think I'm a spoiled rich bitch, huh!?" She slurred, "I agree if you do!" She slammed the empty glass on the table, hard, "Now let's TEAR IT UP!" You’re not spoiled, you’re sheltered. You’re unlike any other person in this bar in that you’ve never stared death-and I mean real death-straight in the face and survived. He felt like saying, but ultimately he decided to hold back. “It doesn’t matter where you come from. There’s nothing in this world that can’t be destroyed.” Bento stood up, a bit shaky on his feet, but quickly regained control of his body, “I’m going to get a bottle. Either ditch the escort or whatever you want, just get ready to fucking fly…” "You got it, boss man!" Lucy giggled. She turned to Diane, only to find that her 'guardian' had fallen asleep. Comically, with a still burning blunt hanging out of the side of a snoring mouth. Lucy exaggerated her rolling eyes, taking the joint a way, she extinguished it in a nearby ashtray, seeing the purple-gray wisps die out as she subbed it out with the piles of others. "She's fucking out, man." she stated, with a dry laugh. Looking now, at Bento, her expression became cheeky, but skeptical, "Now, when the fuck are you gonna show volare-- I wanna fuckin' SOAR!" As Bento returned with an open bottle in his hand, he suddenly noticed that he couldn’t remember how he had acquired it. To make matters worse, there was already a substantial amount of the liquor that was already gone. He raised the bottle to his lips and turned it up to the sky, sucking down another sizable helping of the alcohol before offering it to Lucy. “You want to fucking fly? Then we gotta get on the roof!” The next thing he knew, they were standing on the roof, the winds softly tossing pieces of paper and cigarette butts around them. It had gotten darker since he had first arrived, but there was still enough light to see each other well enough. “Tell me, Lucy, can your sister do this?” He shouted, throwing his hands into the air, sending the winds into a frenzy, whirling all around the odd duo. "DUUUUUUUUUUUDE!" Lucy was yelling above the miniature sand storm that surrounded them... Except it didn't even have any sand! For lack of a better term, she referred to the swirling winds as a 'trash storm' in her mind. The excitement in her system only increased as Cullen showed his powers to her, but she was sober enough to recognize that he probably wouldn't want his ability to do things she had never seen the wind do before 'trash.' "HELL NO!!" She was filled with awe at it all, "ALL SHE DOES IS YELL AT STUFF!!! SHIT, YOU REALLY FUCKING CAN FLY, CAN'T YOU?" “This is how you tear the world apart!” Bento roared, throwing his hands to his sides, flinging all the trash and debris off the roof. “Nature bends to the Immortal’s command, and we too are bent by its will! The winds will happily lift a man to play amongst the stars…” He smiled, power rushing through his veins, the intoxicating mixture of invincibility and euphoric perfection taking control of his body. “So are you ready to fly, Lucy? Or are you too scared to touch the sky?" "Christ..." Lucy still found herself struggling to speak above the tempest around her, she wasn't aware winds could be this intense-- and she didn't really care how it happened. She wasn't a motherfucking scientist! She kept a hand on her head to keep her hat from flying off into the swirling windy night whilst yelling a response to Cullen, "I got more drugs in me right now than I got blood, of course I want to fucking fly!" Moving closer to the man in the eye of the storm, she reached to grab his hand. “You’re going to need to hold on tighter than that.” Bento said, reaching an arm around her back, and sweeping her off her feet with the other. He had only done this once before with another person, but Lucy was considerably lighter so he was confident he could handle it. Whether that was the drugs talking or sound reasoning was of no consequence. The winds concentrated around his feet as he bent his knees and without warning, leapt straight up into the air as they were propelled high into the sky. At the top of their climb the winds began whirling around them in a tight ball. Bento nosedived and brought them level just over the city, soaring low over the inner districts of the city, lit up by elegant streetlights. They flew over the slums, dirty and downtrodden, as Bento suddenly noticed his heart was absolutely pounding in his chest, and it wasn’t the coke… He didn’t care though, he would push it to the edge, “LETS SEE HOW HIGH WE CAN GO!” He shouted, pulling up and dropping the ball around them in favor of a powerful blast beneath his feet, sending them rocketing upwards. The pair rose high into the sky, watching the city shrink below them. Bento’s vision was going in and out but he kept pushing until the winds gave way underneath them. Bento blacked out momentarily as they began to fall through the sky, spiraling down towards the dirt. His consciousness was restored roughly 30 seconds before they hit the ground, and reacted almost instantly. Without thinking he shot a hand out and pushed back against the earth with all of his power, slowing their descent near to a crawl just as they hit the ground. He felt his back take the brunt of the hit, while Lucy fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of him, though thankfully only figuratively this time. For the first time in weeks Bento couldn’t stop himself from laughing… Lucy didn't have time respond before Cullen managed to literally sweep her off her feet. She found herself held in his more-than-capable arms, in the same manner a man would hold his newlywed wife-- except this time with the added bonus of being high out of her mind and in the middle of a fucking windstorm! The pair rose, and Lucy screamed. Not out of fear, but out of an appreciation for the need to release all the excitement she felt in the moment. Her mind wouldn't let her wonder about the type of man that did drugs with complete strangers and then took them flying, she was enjoying the now, and the now was fucking awesome. "Yesss!! Volare!!" She managed to squeak out in between the loud pulses of gale and her own adrenaline, she raised her arms in a cheer, still held in the windcaller's arms, she screamed again, with more drug/risk fueled excitement, a genuine wide, slightly frothing smile on her face. "I can see fucking everything!" She wasn't lying, the windcaller Cullen had taken them high enough to see far more than the poor and rich sectors of Russel City-- She could see the wild fires of Tas burning in the distance. Other gems filled the dark desert, too; Parkland, Harlem, Laguna, each a slightly different glow, all large. As they continued to gain altitude Lucy's screaming became a silent, if not shaky, appreciation of the view she was being give. Behind them was the bright, wasteful glow of Serenity... it looked like it was a million miles away. When they had first risen she could see the lights of vehicles burning their midnight oil to make runs, even the ant-like silhouettes of some people. Her lips parted slightly, Lucy was struck in a silent awe. She could literally see all of Dust. Had anyone ever done that before? The sight was one of absolute beauty, only increased by the mysterious air the night gave it all. Perhaps it was the drugs, but it was all so overwhelming she wanted to cry. She wished more people could see this. She looked above into the almighty void. She reached a shaky hand out to the nearest star possible, that ever-present twinkle to the north, it was so close, but so impossibly far away. She leaned out of his arms slightly, not noticing an end to the wind. If only she could reach just... a little... further...... Just......... Wait? "Cullen?" Lucy said, a panic growing in her voice. They were falling. She looked back at the man, the fear in her eyes was met with the sleep that had overcome his own. He had gone an passed out! "God dammit Cullen, wake up!" She screamed, more fear than excitement now. They were falling fast. She slapped the man, "Fuck! You old motherfucker, if you don't wake up we're both gonna fucking die!" So much for the beauty of it all, it looked like this was going to be the last thing Lucy saw before she died. She gave Cullen several more slaps. "FUCK!" She clenched onto him as they fell, faster and faster toward the rapidly growing Russel City Slums. The worst part of this kind of death, Lucy realized, was that you had to resign to the fact that it was going to happen no matter what you did, and that no amount of struggling would help. She was going to go splat on the roof of some bum's shack. Fuck--Cazzo. Maybe... this is what she wanted, though? She noted that she had stopped screaming. Maybe this was alright? Maybe she wanted death? It wasn't like she was doing anything with her life anyway? She was just some unwanted cunt who sat around and spent other people's money. She was only alive because killing herself directly would be too much effort. Wind rushed harshly past, Lucy sighed with bloodshot eyes. No pain... Just let it happen. "Fuck, fine whatever. Let's just do it. At least I ain't going out like no bitch..." She muttered. With that, Lucy closed her eyes, and awaited death's sweet release, still cradled in Cullen's arms... A release that wouldn't come, at least not at that time, it seemed. Cullen had come to mid-fallen and drastically slowed their descent just enough to make the final 'thud' result in Lucy receive nothing more than a mild bruising. She was alive. She was alive! The adrenaline was beginning to run her brain ragged as it worked against the other chemicals, but she knew being alive was a good thing. She could hear Cullen laughing, and as she opened her eyes, she could see mirth directly-- her face was only inches above his-- she had fallen right on top of him. Without thinking, Lucy slowly joined in, and eventually tossed her arms around the older man. "You're a fucking bastard... you know that?" She said, squeezing all she could out of the surprise hug, "I mean, I thought we were literally gonna bite the Dust!" Twice I’ve cheated death today. The crushed opiates had overpowered the coke by this point and Bento felt himself swimming through a perfect world; one where a shattered soul could be whole again, if only for a fleeting moment. Lucy threw her arms around him. The laughter slowly faded from his lips. A tear stricken face buried in his chest. A hand running through long blond hair. ”Don’t ever leave me.” The phantom whispered, “Please don’t leave.” Lucy held him tighter, reigning in Bento’s wandering mind, laying it to rest safely in the arms of a child. He raised a calloused hand and placed it softly on the girl’s hip, mustering all of what little tenderness he had left in his weary heart. “Feel alive yet?” He smiled weakly.