Alex stared down at the freshly deposited soil before her, wordlessly and expressionless. A soft breeze carried fine wisps of her hair from the accumulated resting place upon her shoulders. In the still night, lit only by the flashlight she held, a chorus of insects were audible within the quiet stillness. It should have seemed, peaceful, but Alex felt only turmoil inside herself. Her mouth opened, but hung agape as she found a loss for what to say, what to do next. She had worked with James for the last couple of hours to finish moving the bodies, even adding the mangled corpses of the bloodhounds to avoid attracting more predators. Though the scent of blood and death still hung heavy in the air. In fact, Alex was sure the putrescent odor all but permeated from herself.

She was still grimy, covered from head to toe in blood, dirt, and things she’d rather not think too hard about. She felt the sting of bite marks on her leg, and another from the small gash on her arm. She had noticed these wounds earlier, but during the course of the skirmish with the bloodhounds they must have gone unnoticed, most likely due to the amount of adrenaline that was rushing through her. She took a slow, steady breath, feeling the soft caress of the wind playfully pass across her face, ruffling her hair. In the last few days she had come so close to dying, so many times, for many different reasons. All of which, boiled back down to herself. She unable to control herself, or her emotions, and that had become a great weakness on her part. Yet, despite everything, she was alive. These bodies… no, these people before her were not, and for what reason? A handful of food, meaningless jewelry? Killing came so easily to her, but as she stood over the aftermath, she couldn’t help but wonder why.

James let out a sigh shortly after using his shovel to smooth and level out the mound of dirt, jamming it into the ground next to him before gazing upwards. Somewhere inside him, there was a burning rage, an unbridled hatred against the ones who had done this, but for now it wasn’t more than a vestigial spark. Besides, as much as James’ more conscious emotions had similarly drifted towards that of contempt towards the Forsaken, they were far less substantial, and he knew his energy was better spent on trying to think of some way to memorialize this site. It wasn’t every day a town simply got sacked by a bunch of bloodthirsty sociopaths. He figured that he could get to that in time. Two people was hardly enough to either erect a proper epitaph, nor to perform a 21 gun salute.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back downwards. ”Well, now what?” he asked, somewhat absentmindedly.

Alex glanced over at him, barely able to make him out through the darkness, ”I suppose that’s it… huh… we should say something..”

“I suppose,” James replied. “But what would we say? It’s not like either of us knew these people.” At that, James had to pause for a moment. What if no one had made it out? What if this was the entire population of the town? He hoped not, but if it were true, then who would know any of their names? Their lives? Their goals, accomplishments, shortcomings, any pertinent information about them? Their entire lives would be reduced to nothing other than “one among many who died at Isolone; rest in peace.” No one would know anything about them other than they were once alive, now dead.

“It’s a shame, what happened here,” he continued. “What if we just buried the whole town? Who knows how long this… massacre would have gone unnoticed… And these people; what if this was all of them?” he murmured.

Alex glanced back down at the mound of dirt, here lied the last vestiges of the people of Isolone, as far as anybody was concerned. ”Perhaps you’re right,” She started, trailing off for only a moment, ”Here lie the remains of eighty-seven people, and not a soul left to speak about it.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them. James wanted to say something in return, but words refused to come to him. The two simply stood there for some time, alone with their thoughts. James bowed his head, laying it on the handle of the shovel. ”What more can we do at this point?” he asked. Of course he would have liked to do a little more for these unfortunate souls, but he also knew when there wasn’t much left to be done. Almost without thinking about it, he picked up the shovel and began trudging back to the post office.

Alex followed him wordlessly, bringing her own shovel. It was a quick walk back to their established shelter from around the back, from the freshly filled in mass grave. It wasn’t right to call it a cemetery, at least not yet. Alex felt she should be a bit more thankful for that thought, but it only brought more gloom into her mood. ”Your fight is over..” She whispered beneath her breath to the dead residents of Isolone. James almost chuckled at that. “I suppose that’s befitting,” he commented.

Alex shot him a quizzical look, before remembering exactly what it was that made him so special, ”That’s going to take some getting used to,” She said, giving a meager chuckle.

She entered the post office after James, feeling the somberness in the air like a thick, translucent blanket. Her body ached, and her wounds required attention. ”The fifth building or so down the road there has a broken water main… I could use with a bit of freshening up,” She said, wiping her hands as best as she could before shouldering one of the duffel bags, ”Try not to run off with my stuff,” She said, only half heartedly trying to sound amused, before turning and exiting the building. She needed some time to process, and she was guessing James did too.

James sat himself down in the post office, finding a ratty couch to sit on while Alex went to clean up. Had he been somewhat more lucid, it would have occurred to him that this may be the only intact couch within a hundred miles, and it would be a bad idea to get it dirty. “I’ll be going after you,” he said, reclining himself on the couch. He could feel the soupy texture of every blotch of filth on him and his clothes, which prompted him to remove his gloves, shemagh, and hoodie, tossing them aside for later cleaning. His bare upper body had managed to remain mostly clean, but it didn’t stop him from feeling disgusting. It was a good thing he removed his jacket when he did, or it would be just as filthy. He knew he should be doing something productive, but he was too exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Alex arrived at the shattered house and let out a sigh. The entire front of it was caved in, but one section had toppled outwards leaving a room with piles of rubble on two sides, and open air on the others. A mangled pipe protruded out of the rubble, which Alex bent to somewhat better accommodate itself to a showering fixture. It was still only better than a trickle, but it would be enough to get the grime off of herself, and maybe wash her clothes too.
She didn’t spend very long at all, working vigilantly to pull the grime from her hair, and whatever was stuck to her skin. Perhaps what was about twenty minutes later, a tired, but refreshed Alex emerged from the broken, decrepit house cleaner than when she had arrived. Her dirty clothes had been thoroughly washed, with a little help from a bar of soap, and she was dressed in a fresh set of clothes; A simple white shirt that reached down to her thighs, and a pair of shorts beneath. Though she kind of ruined the homely, girlfriend look with her spare set of clean boots.

”Your turn,” She said casually, still halfway down the street from the post office, trying to ascertain the extent of James’ powers, though mostly out of girlish curiosity.

“Kay,” James offhandedly shouted, standing himself up and grabbing his backpack in one hand and his dirty laundry in the other before heading off to the building he saw Alex coming from. She definitely seemed to do a good job of cleaning herself up. It wasn’t unlikely she had some cleaning supplies on her. Something he didn’t have. “Do you have any soap or something that I can borrow?” he asked , stopping in the street a few feet from her.

”Oh, yea I do, one sec,” She replied, fishing around inside her duffel bag and pulling out her amenities, ”I hope you don’t mind smelling like a bouquet of flowers, but here you go. Just try not to use it all,” she said, handing the supplies over to him.

James was caught somewhat off guard by that. He hadn’t taken Alex to be the sort of person to use anything that could be construed as girly, but he figured it best not to dwell on it. “Thanks,” he replied, hardly even taking notice of the fact that he would soon be using this stuff. Regardless of the scent which he was about to douse himself with, he still wanted to get himself clean.

He maneuvered his way around all the collapsed bits of the building towards the sound of the trickling water. Once he reached the pipe, he began his typical routine of cleaning himself off. It occurred to him that it would have been smart to bring his own hygienic equipment from Aspin, but he also hadn’t expected this turn of events. He had expected to buy more things in Russell before moving in; something that may have been an impossibility regardless of whether or not he had ever met Alex.

After spending roughly fifteen minutes cleaning off himself and his filthy clothes, he was back to looking like a proper human being, and while he managed to completely clean his gloves, shemagh and jeans, his hoodie had suffered from taking on a couple grimy stains. He figured they would come out after enough times washing it. After drying off and putting on a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, he headed back to the post office, feeling clean, but still tired. Today had been nothing short of exhausting for him. It seemed that there would, furthermore, be no rest for the weary as he noticed the couch on which he had previously sought relief was now outside of the post office. “What the hell is this?” he asked, indignantly.

Alex walked through the door, looking up at James as if he had asked a silly question. ”It’s a couch,” She replied simply as she fiddled with opening the top of a jar filled with a dark colored liquid.

“I can see that, but I had hoped to, you know, lay on it,” he retorted. “What prompted you to move it out here, and…” he stopped, taking note of the jar in her hands. “What’s in that? It looks… oily.”

”Well..” She started, stopping as she looked at him, ”I was going to burn it.”

James dropped his backpack, and nearly his still-wet clothes as well, at the thought of that. “Why would you do that?” he half-asked, half-exclaimed. “It’s a perfectly intact couch, we can clean it up and use it to sleep on! I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we’ll find a bed in that post office!” he ranted. “For that matter, why burn anything in the first place? It’s not like…” He stopped himself, realizing he was about to say something incredibly stupid. He noticeably calmed down for a moment, clearing his throat. “Surely you can find something, I dunno, less useful to burn,” he quipped.

”If you want to scrub the human remains, blood, and.. brownish goop from the cushions than be my guest, but I’m not wasting all of my soap on a couch,” She retorted calmly. Calmly. That thought made her pause for a moment, she wasn’t getting overly aggressive or angry, which was curious thing considering her recent track record.

James cracked a small smile at that. “Given enough time, and that we can get some proper cleaning supplies, I’m sure I will,” he replied smugly. He was about to push the couch back inside when he realized that there wasn’t really any good place to put his damn clothes. He sighed, conceding to a point. “We should probably put up a clothesline, or something,” he stated.

”Better than where I put mine,” Alex replied, pointing to her wet clothes hung within the office’s broken window, ”You can see a hell of a lot better than I can though.”

James set his things down in the post office, looking for supplies to set up a line. “If you want to make a fire, go for it. Just, you know, don’t touch my damn couch!” he said, somewhat playfully. He put his clothes on a relatively clean counter, setting his backpack down to look for a rope. He found that fairly easily, but he knew he’d still need something to secure the clothes to the line, once he found a spot.

His hands found the rope in his pack, which he promptly pulled out and took outside to find a place to set up the line. It didn’t take long. He tied one end of the rope onto what was likely a flagpole at one point, then took the rest of the rope over to an adjacent building, tying it off on what was once a post on the front porch of a house. It was damaged, but would likely hold enough weight to keep both his and Alex’s drying clothes suspended. Now he just needed some way to secure said clothes.

Alex, meanwhile, had wandered off in search of something to burn. A chill had seeped in over the night, while not particularly cold, it was making her legs wish she had on longer bottoms. Unfortunately she wasn’t always the most thorough when packing her things, and hadn’t even accounted on a situation of this magnitude. She meandered down the street, lot in her thoughts, trying to contemplate the day’s events and her feeling of serenity. For the past.. she didn’t know how long, she had been consumed by overwhelming rage, now she was–

She was broken from her thoughts as she bumped into a piece of bent metal. Lost in her thoughts, she had barely paid attention to where she was going, until she found herself in a building directly across the street from the post office. The interior of this building mostly consisted of rubble and splatterings of blood. A moment later and she was grunting with effort as she dragged out half of a heavy wooden bedframe, unconcerned about the feeling of lacquer beneath her hands; She had probably inhaled worse things.

James figured if push comes to shove, he could simply drape the damp clothes over the line and then tie them off at the bottom to keep them from getting blown away by a strong wind, or untying one end and sliding them over the line. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what he started doing as he realized that he had no good way of securing them other than by their own weight. He started with his hoodie, untying the end of the line by the post office and threading the rope through each sleeve before pushing it down the line. The next item that he hung was his pants, which was done much easier by way of using the belt loops to keep them suspended.

He repeated the process with Alex’s clothes until every piece he could find was draped over the rope and blowing in the breeze. He then took a moment to ensure each end was tightly secured before taking a step back, as if to admire his own resourcefulness. He then went to push the couch back into the post office, although he figured it would be best to put it somewhere out of sight until he could get it cleaned up.

By the time Alex had dragged the wooden bed frame over, along with two broken end tables and a decent sized piece of flat scrap metal over towards the post office, it seemed James was just about done with what he had been doing. ”Having fun with the laundry, dear?” She jested playfully, through a grunt of effort at dragging the last bits of broken wood over that she was planning to gather.

James made a somewhat quizzical look at that comment, at which point he took note of their differences in activities. He was almost embarrassed. “I can’t help but feel like there’s a bit of gender role reversal going on right now,” he replied, closing the door to the small storage room he had put the couch inside and coming out to help Alex with what she was doing. ”Hehe, thanks doll,” She teased, letting James give her a hand. Fortunately she was just about done.

”In the duffel bag closest to the window, there’s a cloth box zipped closed… do you like spicy?” Alex asked, locating her jar of fuel from the ground and unscrewing the cap to drizzle about a quarter of the liquid over the pile of miscellaneous scrap wood centered around a fragmented end table.

“In moderation,” he replied, walking over to the duffel and pulling out the item Alex asked for. “I’m not really partial to spicy things, but I’ll eat them.” He brought the box over to her as she drenched the miscellaneous wood pieces in what James assumed was some flammable liquid. Alex motioned for him to set the box down as she clicked a sparking device, directing the tiny little spark towards the pile of wood.

A moment later and a spark at sailed far enough to catch on the starting agent and turn the pile of wood into a small raging inferno, if only for a second, before calming down into a steady blaze. ”I can try to cater to your tastes.. but it’s still probably gonna be spicy,” she said, opening the lunchbox. She looked down into its dim depths, thinking back on her original purpose of bring fresh meat–a celebratory beginning to a new life. She hadn’t once thought it would be the conclusion to a pitiful funeral for a multitude of strangers.

From inside the box she pulled out a small parcel, wrapped in shiny foil, and a small metal tool. She unwrapped the foil, and extending the metal tool out into a long cooking spit she skewered two slabs of normalish looking meat; which began sizzling almost immediately as she stuck one end of the tool into the ground to suspend the meat over a small edge of the fire. ”You know..” Alex started, as she drizzled an orange liquid over one of the cooking steaks, and just about drowning the other, ”I’m not sure if you’re incredibly open hearted with people.. or just plain off, but I’m glad you’re here.” She stopped for a moment, her mind finding the awkwardness in such a statement as she mulled it over. ”I mean, it’s better than being alone, and you did save my ass from hungry bloodhounds,” She followed up quickly to clarify what she had meant exactly.

James chuckled slightly at that statement as he sat down next to Alex. “I’m not sure about ‘open hearted’. I mean, I did have my own motives for coming here. I suppose you just got lucky in that regard,” he said, matter of factly. He stopped to think about what he said, realizing that could have come off as being very cold. “But really, I’m glad I could help,” he finished, hoping to mitigate his prior mistake. “So, what is this, anyways?” he asked, waving a hand towards the food.

”I’m actually not entirely sure,” Alex responded, chuckling, ”It’s called Druffalo meat, and it’s spicy.”

“Hahaha, hooray for mystery meat!” James exclaimed sarcastically.
Alex giggled softly in response as she watched the flames flicker and dance before her. ”Takes one to know one,” she mused aloud, though she was partially just thinking to herself.

James tilted his head, then cocked an eyebrow. “What? Mystery meat? I’m not sure I follow,” he replied.

”No,” She replied with a slight chuckle,”I meant you.. this wanderer who tracks down this monster to question her and then… and then what? There’s just… nothing,” She focused her gaze on the fire as she moved to rotate the quickly browning meat.

James grunted and laid himself down, placing his arms behind his head. “Well when you put it that way it sounds so bleak,” he said. His eyes scanned across the sky, going between the stars. It reminded him of what some of the scientists back in Aspin would say, but he kept it to himself for now. “And besides, you don’t seem like much of a monster to me,” he finished.

”Thanks,” she said, though the thought hung heavily over her. Even if she wasn’t a monster, there was one inside of her. ”You really have this uncanny way of nonchalantly changing the subject whenever it falls onto you… I’m guessing there’s a reason?” She stated, casting a glance towards him as she sat down on the ground as well.

James mulled over that thought for a moment. Did he really do that so often? It didn’t seem like it, though there were times when he purposefully tried to misdirect the conversation. “I honestly didn’t even know I was doing it. I mean, I do it intentionally at times, but not usually,” he stated. “When, exactly, did I just do that?” He realized he may have to do it again, as this very subject wasn’t likely to keep their attention for much longer.

”You redirected it to how I’m not a monster, rather than enlighten me on the mysteriousness of yourself,” she clarified, listening to the fire hiss as she drizzled a bit more of the orange sauce of the nearly finished steaks.

He stood corrected, though on that point he figured he’d have a little fun with this. “My mysteriousness? I’m just a guy who followed you through the desert. Plain and simple,” he said, playfully. Ahhh, screw it, why not keep going?

“You know, when I still lived in Aspin, I would get by by helping out some of the scientists. I was good with a gun, and good at spotting trouble, so I was sort of an escort when they needed it. Well, a few of them would mention how, back in the old world, they would name the stars. A couple of them said they’re the same as the sun, just… out there, rather than close to us.” he mused, allowing his mind to dwell on that thought a bit.

Alex looked up at the sky, at the thousands of twinkling pinpoints of light dotting the darkness, remembering what little she knew about stars–literally, nearly nothing. ”There’s this myth I hear once, around a campfire with some scavenging buddies. There was this old man there, like, literally ancient, talking about the sky and the stars, and how there used to be big this enormous white rock that would circle around our planet. He said that there were things living on those stars, that some of them were just like ours, a star, a planet, he said they are one in the same. They say The Orb came from one of those stars, somewhere way out there.. a place so far away that we could die a thousand lifetimes before we ever reached it.”

James’ mind continued to simply ponder the thought of what’s out there. If what the scientists’ had said was to be believed, then the entirety of what was out there was likely far, far, far larger than anything anyone alive could comprehend. He suddenly felt very small. “Pffff, it’s about as hard to think about as it is amazing, if you ask me,” he commented.

”It is,” Alex agreed, reaching over to focus her mind on a much simpler task, removing the meat from the fire. She remounted the tool in the dirt a couple of feet away, to let the steamy food cool. ”It kind of feels like my plans are just as grand as the universe out there.. It’s all I can think about, yet, I can’t fully comprehend what I’m doing out here, let alone the next step,” She confessed quietly, prodding the meat and finding it still much too hot.

“No kidding,” James replied nonchalantly, sitting up as Alex took the meat out of the fire. “So, what made you pick this place? Why not Dead-End or something?” James asked.

”Defensible.. highground..” Aeshma murmured quietly in her mind.

”I’m not entirely sure.. it just..” She paused, blocking out Aeshma and trying to once more forget his presence, ”It was just a feeling I followed.”

James shrugged, giving the piece of meat that he assumed was his a poke. Pretty hot, but it would cool down soon enough. “So how do you plan on keeping this place afloat? If your plans to make this a sort of haven for Immortals come to fruition, we’re going to need a sustainable source of food and water,” he remarked.

Alex quirked an eyebrow at him, a small flutter catching in her heart. He had referred to both of them, was that unintentional or did she have an ally in this? She decided it was better not to press that, perhaps it was just a slip of the tongue. ”Well.. you already know about the information brokers.. and Missand should be here tomorrow afternoon with food and water. I wasn’t expecting to have to rebuild this place though..” She paused for a moment, weighing her options. There was plenty of scrap, but that would only provide enough material for a few buildings. She was out of money, and trade, meaning she couldn’t simply buy materials. With anything short of a gold mine beneath them buying materials was pretty unlikely anyways. Then perhaps the best, and worst idea hit her.

”I heard The Castalian Princess was in Russel…” she commented, letting the thought hang there as she reached for the meat coated in far less savory sauce than its counterpart, she rather enjoyed the natural spiciness of the beef.

“The who, now?” James asked. Castalia was definitely not a name he was familiar with, and as far as he knew there weren’t any literal monarchies in Dust, so that quip was likely sarcasm. Still, there was something in the way she said it that made it sound like it held some truth. The thought quickly escaped him as he grabbed for his slab of meat, it’s temperature adequately lowered to the point that it was edible. He took it in one hand and bit a chunk out of it.

”I’ve really only heard stories of her, though I never paid much mind to them. There’s a family based out in Serenity, and she’s the entitled doll-faced killer poster girl for them, or so I hear. Yet, some people become nervous at the mere mentioning of her name, her reputation of bloodthirstiness proceeds her, but there are two sides to every coin. I’d be willing to bet on an investment in my little.. project, as I heard she does business too.” She explained, tearing off a piece of the meat between her teeth and letting out a little hum of pleasure.

James grunted as he chewed down on the food. As much as he felt like a wuss for it being drenched in sauce, it was actually really good. He could still taste the spiciness in the meat, but it was largely suppressed. His appreciation for the taste of this food was cut off by Alex’s statement. “It seems you don’t have any qualms with using what could very well be blood money,” he quipped.

”Maybe you’re right, but Dust is fueled by bloodshed… I hope to turn that to my advantage and change it. Dust is a mess, I want to clean it up, starting with us,” She retorted.

James nodded. There was definitely no denying that, but he supposed having a cataclysmic global catastrophe would tend to do that. Still, it was sad what happened to people when left to their own devices, with no law to govern them and stop them from hurting others.James had made a vow to never go against his own principles, no matter what, and while what Alex was suggesting had never really occurred to him, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

His thoughts drifted off to whom else may come. He definitely wanted to see Ivan and Vladimira once more. He figured at least one of them would likely show up sometime soon.

A moment of silence passed between them as they finished their meager, but satisfying meal. Alex sighed happily laying back just far enough from the fire to not really feel its heat too much, the night wasn’t quite cold enough to huddle up next to a blazing fire. ”What do you think about all this?” She asked, her voice portraying a bit of melancholy attached to a soft chuckle, ”It seems impossible, right? Crazy.”

James had to think about that question. Given the nature of immortals, hollows, the spark, everything that seemed to go with this wasteland, he really wasn’t sure it was worth worrying about. “Honestly, after today, I’m not sure I care anymore. It’s not worth my time to worry about what may or may not be possible. If it’s happening, it’s possible, and I just leave it at that,” he said, nonchalantly.

Alex glanced over at him, watching the way the fire reflected off of his dark hair. It was only then that she noticed the startlingly vibrant shade of his eyes, a mysterious tone of green. His words bounced around in her head, but she wasn’t sure if she could not care, if she could feel such apathy he said he felt. The world was chaos, that much was true. She didn’t necessarily want to bring order, just acceptance. If she was going to die, it would be out there in the wastes, not to some frightened father trying to protect his family from a needlessly perceived threat.

”Where do you fit? In this crazy puzzle of life,” She asked, actually quite curious about his purpose. He was definitely an Enigma, a mystery. After feeling alone her entire life, Alex felt the need to have that trusty worthy companion, a friend, perhaps. It may have just been circumstance that James showed up here, and chose to stick around… for now. Alex wasn’t much one for destiny or fate anyways.

James couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that, leaning himself all the way back until his head laid on the dirt. “Where do I fit... “ As he thought about it, he began to really wonder about that. Being around scientists, his general opinion was that his problems were miniscule; practically meaningless in the grand scheme of things. The same went for everyone else. James supposed he should envy some for that, but it was what it was. Still, he’d never really been asked that question before, and he’d never really thought about it.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replied, simply and earnestly. “Hell, I’m not sure there’s any meaning to my life at all, or even life in general,” he said. His face went from one of neutral apathy to near concern as he thought about it. It was what it was, sure, and while it made logical sense in his mind, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how much that prospect disturbed him. His worldview of borderline nihilism, which once he was content with, suddenly began to scare him. Why was that?

Alex rolled over, elbows in the dirt and chin resting on her hands, ”Doesn't everybody deserve purpose though?” She asked. It dawned on her that she didn’t really have any right to ask. Not because she was just curious, but because it was the falsification of purpose which nearly drove her over the edge. Still, should go never see herself as an aimless wanderer, drifting like so much sand across the dunes.

James’ thoughts came to a pause at Alex’s reply. Did he deserve a purpose? Why should he? He was just a guy, nothing special. Same as with everyone. Still, if everyone deserved a purpose, he supposed that was fair. Whether it was true or not was something James couldn't answer, but the possibility was enough to curb his growing worry. Still, the latter would likely begin to plague him for the time being “If there is a purpose, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

”If you feel in need, the offer still stands,” Alex said quietly. In all fairness, she never really got a straight answer earlier, and it would be nice to have someone like him along for the ride. His phenomena was quite useful, but rather, she got a comfortable feeling from him. Though she was no empath, it’s a feeling she was rather enjoying. A rare thing in Dust, where everybody is suspicious and wants something from you.

James glanced over at Alex, giving her a quizzical look. “Like I said, I'll stay and help however I can as long as I can or want to, and if ever I do decide this isn’t my place, I won't be leaving on short notice,” he replied. He was sure at this point that Alex was looking for a straight answer, and as much as James wanted to give her one, he simply couldn't at the moment. Well, he could, but he wasn't about to say it due to the fact that it would make him sound like a lunatic.

”I can accept that,” She said, rolling back over on the ground. So much for that shower and being clean, she thought, prompting a giggle from her. A few more moments passed as she laid back, relaxing with heavy eyes, though she felt very awake. Thoughts continued to circulate around her head without any real control over them. ”Thank you,” She said, after a particularly unpleasing thought crossed her mind, ”At the very least, it would be nice to have somebody around when more people show up, I’m totally drained,” she admitted, though that much was probably obvious after their encounter with the bloodhounds.

James let out a small chuckle, rolling over to look at Alex. There was no denying he had seen her before, and while he would typically write it off as saying she was just some stranger, there was something telling him she was far more important than that. He began to look her over somewhat, trying to find any telltale signs that might jog his memory. While he could see her just fine without the light of the fire, it definitely helped with other details he may have missed before. He could see lines of scar tissue ending at around her shoulder blades, indicating marks across her back. She had mentioned she was a slave at one point, though that didn’t necessarily help James. His eyes moved to her face, which seemed more or less free of marring, and of which the only thing that didn’t strike him as familiar was her eyes; completely white. It may have meant that he had seen her before she became an immortal. She turned towards him, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at her studiously. Alex felt a finite amount of warmth rising in her cheeks, reminded of the only other person who seemed to examine her in such a way.

James took note of Alex’s attention being turned towards him, as well as the color of her cheeks turning slightly darker. His eyes met Alex’s for a moment, his mouth turning into a playfully coy grin. “Sorry, I was just spacing out for a moment,” he said.

Alex turned her gaze away, choosing to look at the smoldering fire instead as the haunting memory slowly fades away. ”It wouldn’t be the first time somebody got lost in my eyes… except that you looked at me first,” She teased, chuckling slightly. Her heart gave a tiny flutter, a bit from the sadness of that memory, and partly from intrigue. She silently wondered to herself if he had x-ray vision, causing her blush to deepen.

James chuckled again, turning his eyes towards the fire. It would likely last about another hour, which at this point would be… late. Very late. Even now it was pretty late, and James’ exhaustion finally began to catch up with him. He let out a yawn whilst simultaneously stretching his arms above his head. “It’s pretty late. We should probably look into getting some sleep,” he stated, sitting himself up.

”You go ahead,” Alex started, ”I think I’ll stay up for awhile.” Truthfully she wasn’t sure if she could sleep right at the moment. The mixture of feelings and memories, coupled with everything was trying to process made her feel like she was in overload. Everytime she leaned back and closed her eyes she saw Cassie’s smiling face, vibrant and pure like nothing was wrong in the world. She cursed her weakness, letting Aeshma’s influence over power her rational thought, and yet he sat there in the back of her mind with a deep and throaty chuckle.

James gave her a look as he was getting up, then let out a sigh. “If you say so,” he replied, dusting himself off as he headed back towards the post office. There probably wasn’t anyplace comfortable to sleep, at least none that was also clean, much to James’ chagrine. Still, he figured he’d look around for something that vaguely resembled bedding, or else he could just clean a small bit of floor and use his clothes and backpack as padding.

He picked up his backpack and weapons, which he had left near the entrance of the building, and headed upstairs. Fortunately, some of the rooms on the second floor had carpeting, which was at least a plus. He managed to find a spot in the corner of what once was likely a copy room. He set his stuff down against the wall before opening his backpack and finding some things to use as bedding.

Alex yawned, mostly from fatigue, as she watched James go. Now that he had left she was left alone with the silence of her own thoughts, and the paltry sounds of the crackling fire. She had put on a brave, strong face, though part of her felt James had seen through it. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t give his full acceptance of what she wanted to do, maybe he sensed she was weak. Unable to fully carry out her ideals, and he wanted an out for when things starting collapsing around her. She wouldn’t blame him, things did have a habit of collapsing around her and getting violent. She leaned back, scooting up to the edge of the building, as she traversed the muddled waters of her mind. Her heart physically hurt as she passed across the ghostly faces of those who appeared behind her closed eyes. A lonely tear leaked from her eye, accompanied by a soft sniffle. She wiped it away and grit her teeth, there would be no more of that.

Her fists tightened as she willed herself to forget, to leave those faces behind. Her tormentors, her victims, she tried to mentally rub them out as she ground her fist into the fist, bringing her knees close to her body. The dull aches of her wounds reminding her of what real pain was, these thoughts in her head were nothing but weights holding her down. Torn flesh, blood, those were real problems. Externalizing it made it make more sense, she couldn’t fathom all of the feelings she was having inside. The only thing that felt quite familiar was the rage, the anger, the hostility towards other people. But that wasn’t even her own emotion, that was an influence from a demon placed upon her unwillingly. Every boon came with a curse. That thought make her chuckle almost sinisterly.

”That much is true…” She mumbled to herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and staring into the flames of the fire. Watching how they danced, how they fluttered in the slightest disturbance in the air. The most destructive force of nature, yet it was beautiful; strong and fearsome. She had to be the fire, enthralling to look at, deadly to cross. The wounds of her heart had no place in what was to come, things she barely understood. Difficult things to process… it was much easier to just feel the pain. She flexed her arm, feeling the dull ache turn into an active throb. That–that should could understand.

James stood in one of the windows looking at Alex, having heard her choke up. He had a feeling she was trying to put up a strong front ever since she had met him, but without direct observation he couldn’t be sure. He quietly let out a sigh and lowered his head. He almost wanted to go back outside and ask what was wrong, but he knew that would likely do more harm than good at this point. It wasn’t hard to tell Alex was an emotionally damaged girl, and as much as James wanted to help, this was a problem one needed to approach with tact.

He raised his head, seeing Alex curl into her current position, muttering a few words to herself. It seemed now James had gained another reason to stick around for a while. It occurred to him how odd it was that he had seen Alex as a bloodthirsty animal earlier that day, and now was seeing her true colors. Funny how drastically one’s opinion can change over such a short timeframe. He nearly felt guilty for it.

He took a few steps away from the window, pausing briefly before returning to his shoddy excuse for a mattress. He laid himself down on the thin layer of clothes before shutting his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Time passed slowly as Alex drifted across the expanse of her memories, each of them fluttering up to the forefront of her consciousness one by one, as if they were ensuring that each of them got their fill of her attention. The fire died slowly as she mulled over her thoughts, as she tried to traverse the roiling sea of emotions coursing through her, faces like lightning striking pangs into her heart, threatening to tear apart her shoddy raft of stability. At some point she looked up, staring into the glowing embers peaking through the mounds of ashens heaped over them. Seeing only Vladimira’s eyes through the haze of rage from within a body should could no longer control, fueled by hunger and a thirst for bloodshed.

She frowned, kicking out with her foot and sending a spray of dirt to disturb the coals. A cloud of ash puffed up angrily swirling around rising sparks of luminescent whites and yellows. Colors that formed themselves into the blank gaze of Evelina as Alex mercilessly beat the light from her eyes, until the very sky cried in remorse. She grit her teeth, trying to subside the anger in deadlock with her sorrow. Alex stood abruptly, storming off out of the ruined town, with only stains of blood to herald the departure of its former denizens.

The soft sound of footsteps in the sand was enough to stir James from his sleep. He made a grab for his AK, fearing the worst, but when he heard the steps fading slightly with each step, he figured it was most likely Alex? Where was she going? He quickly got up from his makeshift bed, taking his pistol just in case. He went down the stairs and stepped in front of the post office, noticing the nearly-extinguished fire. Given Alex’s mental state, James figured it might not be a bad idea to follow her to make sure she doesn’t do anything rash.

A soft, tepid breeze blew in from the cliff face of the mesa, creating a stark contrast against the mildly chilly temperature atop the mesa. Alex kicked a sizable rock, feeling pain shoot through her toes. She focused on it, and for a moment the turmoil subsided, replaced by something real, something understandable. But that too faded, like so many memories of the people she had crossed paths with. Slowly her mind drifted, downwards into an emotional darkness that was suffocating and all consuming. She longed to feel nothing, she didn’t understand anything.

She had purpose, but there was only this pain she couldn’t rid herself of. She had reason, there was a monster–a demon inside of her, it wasn’t her fault. But there were still the tears. It was at this moment she truly hated life. She was so overburdened with excess emotion that she had never been taught to deal with, all because of what? A select few of people who deemed her worth her weight in jewels and bullets? Greya’s soft chuckle seemed to blast into her mind, hauntingly loud, and yet not all all. Alex saw her face, her body, looming over her prostrate form, afraid and sobbing as the lash cracked against her bare back.

”Stop it…” She sobbed, stumbling through the rocky stretch of land before her. The voices came back, the same scene repeating itself. They all laughed at her, dulled by the thunderous crack of the whip, sparking louder laughter. They judged her, everybody was judging her; because she wasn’t good enough. She would never be good enough. She had been such a bad girl, she had turned against her masters–

No!” Alex wailed, falling to her knees. She was far out from the town now, far enough that she could smell the salt in the air carried over from the ocean. ”I am free!” She muttered, her balled hands working to rub the blinding moisture from her eyes.

”Are you?” Aeshma hissed mockingly. Joining in on the cacophony of voices, the judgemental states, the derogatory remarks. Watching with such mirth as she was degraded into a hollow shell, every lash stripping her away until her very soul began to feel the pain. She could feel it too, vividly, the scars on her back felt like fire. Her body shook as she hunched over herself, unable to overcome the pain, unable to find her voice. This isn’t what she signed up for, she never wanted any of this. She just wanted a normal life, like everybody else.

She never asked to be an Immortal, to be a weapon. She never meant to kill Cassie, the thought of which brought on another bout of sobbing. She stood slowly, feeling her chest tremble as her breath caught in her lungs. Aeshma seemed to sense the hysterical state she was quickly spiraling into.

”Let me.. I can-”

”Shut up,” She seethed, the malice in her voice on the same level of the constant aura of anger and hunger Aeshma put off unto her. She felt his consciousness poke back in, ready to say something. ”Shut up… or I swear to the maker,” She spat, her hands grabbing forcefully into her hair as she desperately tried to block him out, conveying images of throwing her self from the cliff’s edge with a fervent passion strong enough to cow Aeshma into submission..

James was some ways away from Isolone by now, and even though Alex was still some ways off, James could hear nearly everything Alex said. Was she talking to someone? No, no one was with her. He still wasn’t unsure Alex was just mad, which even further necessitated him being close by. He kept up with her, but made sure to keep enough distance that he wouldn’t be easily seen or heard.

”It would be so easy,” She laughed, feeling him Aeshma back into the darkest recesses of her mind. ”So easy…” She mused softly. She meandered towards the cliff face slowly, though it was in fact quite a ways away.

”You killed her..” She whispered after a time, feeling the throbbing pain from the gash in her leg with every step, ”You killed all of them..”

”I loved her.. and you took her..” She accused, yet she couldn’t feel Aeshma’s presence. ”They tried to help me.. and you killed them…” She mumbled, feeling slight spasms in her chest as her tired body tried to prevent itself from breaking down. ”I was too weak..” She admitted, taking a shaky breath. ”I don’t deserve..” She began, tears once more welling in her eyes.

Then suddenly Aeshma’s presence slammed into her, like a raging inferno. He came so fast, and with such a viciousness that she was ripped away from her own consciousness. Immediately she could feel it, the dark rage bubbling in her veins, spreading throughout her body. She looked at her arms in shock, though that was merely a feeling as she was no longer in control. It spread much faster than the last time, she could feel the power rising up inside of her, the tingling of the change.

”NO!” She screamed, the mental resonance shattering Aeshma’s composure.

”I WILL NOT!” She howled, using every ounce of strength she had to grapple with Aeshma, two beasts with claws extended fighting for control over a single existence. Her body fell to the ground, spasming as the process began, and stopped, and began again as she and Aeshma fought for control. Her entire being felt hazy with rage as she focused on a single desire, to rid this monster of his control over her. Aeshma gave off a vibe of surprise and fear as she came at him with pure savagery in her thoughts.

The spasming form in the rocky shrub filled waste gave off a flash of light that intensified into a crescendo of brightness before falling away into a dull glimmering haze. Alex stood up quickly, gasping for breath as a soreness spread through her body. Such a dull ache, and so crippling at the same time. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“What the fuck?” James nearly exclaimed. He managed to keep his voice down as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, and then back again to the dull, dark night. As his vision faded back into focus, he noticed a figure standing over Alex. A dark… ethereal… humanoid figure. His thoughts drifted back to how Alex had explained that the spark was a sentient being. Was this… the spark?

”How..” Aeshma whispered. Alex gave out a squeak of surprise as she looked up, to a shadowy silhouette standing before her. ”How can you..”

Alex stared at the figure, it resembled a man, but with elongated limbs. The form was hazy, both ethereal and solid, but with a smoky blackness that trailed soft wisps of.. essence with the breeze. The form reached out towards her, but Alex scrambled away, bruising her hands against the rocks. She hadn’t felt this way since the day in the camp.. when Greya was torturing her in the dirt, prodding her with that electric device...



”I’m.. I’m sorry.. Alex said quietly, her gaze downcast towards the dark earth.

”I couldn’t remember… what you did for me… you could have chosen anybody..” She muttered, feeling the silky coolness of Aeshma’s form lift her chin.

”..But I chose you” He whispered.

”I was rejecting you…” Alex realized, ”It was me.. I was the one.. the rage..”

Every feature on James’ face grew wider as he realized what he was looking at. That was the spark, and it was fucking talking. He was about to get up and intervene, bringing his pistol to bear against the dark figure, not that it would be effective at this distance, or at all, given the apparent nature of this… thing. Still, he was too surprised and worried to care about those details.

”Without harmony… there is only chaos,” Aeshma stepped closer, though it seemed as if he simply willed himself to move with gracefulness of a light fog, ”Will you accept me?” He asked so familiarly, as he did all those years ago.

”Yes,” Alex croaked through a stifled sob, one of relief and understanding, of both joy and remorse.

Aeshma descended upon her like a misty blanket, with a mystical coolness that enveloped her body. She felt the euphoria of joining with him, the crippling soreness fading away as she felt him once more take residence in her mind. No longer fueled with rage and desire, it was oddly… comforting. Like the final piece of herself had been dusted off and refitted into place.

”I accept you.”

Almost as quickly as the event had started, it ended. James was still too surprised to do much of anything other than stare at Alex as she regained her composure. Slowly, he lowered his pistol, tucking it in his waistband and processing what just happened, or at least trying to. She wasn’t crazy; the spark was fucking sentient. Still, James wasn’t sure at this point that madness wasn’t simply transmittable at this point and he was getting it from Alex. James let out a quiet chuckle at that thought before standing up.

“You know what? Fuck it. It is what it is.” he said, turning around and heading back towards Isolone.

Seven people, five dressed in Forsaken rags, stood next to a dirty, red pick-up truck towing a surprisingly fancy trailer, and the bullet-filled, recently-dead corpse of an unfortunate mercenary named Blake. “Do another one, another one!” screamed one of the Forsaken raiders, clapping his hands as though he were a small child.

Cyrus rolled his eyes and smiled in response. “Oh, very well!” All the joy in his voice and expression were completely and utterly fake, seeing as they were currently being forced to perform tricks at gunpoint. He threw his blunted training sword up in the air behind him and stuck out his hands to form a platform. The ever-agile Archie used this makeshift platform to vault up in the air, grab the sword from its aerial spin, and land gently on the ground. It was a rather amateur-level acrobatic trick they did – even more so because the sword wasn’t sharp – but the Forsaken they’d crossed paths with seemed to enjoy it regardless. In fairness, there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment out in the wilderness of Dust, so this must have been like watching a full-on circus act to them. One of them still had a double-barrel shotgun trained on the pair, but the rest had either holstered their weapons or allowed them to dangle at their sides, just barely holding onto them. Just a bit longer… he thought, eyeing the armed bandit. There were five altogether, though only the two holding guns gave Cyrus any real reason to worry. As long as they were adequately mesmerized, the element of surprise would give the brothers a massive advantage when they came to blows.

… Wait… I know exactly how to speed this up.

“For my next trick, I shall need a volunteer!” Cyrus proclaimed, pointing towards the shotgun-wielding man. “You, sir!” The Forsaken good was all too eager to join him ‘on stage’, so to speak. “What’s your name?”

“Bloodfist the Violent.” The Forsaken replied happily, showing off a mostly-toothless grin.

“Ah, Bloodfist! Everyone give a hand for Bloodfist the Violent!” The rest of the Forsaken applauded lazily, with one giving a loud “WOOOO, YEAH, BLOODFIST!” before quieting back down.

“Please, Bloodfist,” Cyrus said, turning the gunman’s back to him, his front facing the audience, “Hold out your hand.” Sure enough, Bloodfist complied.

“Now, watch as my brother and I...” Cyrus waited until Archie's deft hands had already reached the second gunman, and had practically taken it from him already, "beat the absolute shit out of you!"

And with that, the fight began: Cyrus socked Bloodfist squarely in the jaw, and followed up by sweeping his leg. The lumbering brute of a warrior was sufficiently tripped up to fall over forward, and smashed his head on a rock when, knocking him unconscious… or killing him. Cyrus couldn’t tell. The second gunman most definitely would have been able to get a shot off on Cyrus had Archie not deftly stolen his weapon and used the blunted training sword to smash the back of his head. “En garde, motherfuckers! Prepare to have your swashes buckled!” screamed the suave swordsman. Archie bashed the disarmed gunman again on the backswing, knocking him unconscious, letting out a victorious warcry. As Archie dueled with another forsaken, a furious-looking lunatic without a shirt, covered in scars and tattoos, pulled out a sharp combat knife and dashed towards Cyrus.

“Really, Archie, two against three? That’s kind of unfair…” quipped Cyrus as he side-stepped away from a vertical slice from a knife-wielding nutcase, “There’s only three of them!” He gave Knifey a knee to the stomach, causing him to keel over, then clasped his fists together and slammed them down on the back of his attacker’s head in a powerful, hammer-like motion. Knifey hit the ground face-first. Cyrus glanced over at Archie, who was still dueling with some lanky bandit bastard, as another foeman approached the valiant shapeshifter.

“Oi, you feckin’ fuck!” another raider screamed. This one was the most intimidating by far: he held an aluminum bat with nails welding to it in one hand and a crude, long machete in the other. This man, whom Cyrus instantly decided to call ‘Sir Dickbag’, reminded him of some of the massive brutes he’d faced during his various arena fights. “You fink you can trick us n’ gettaway wif’ it?!”

“I cannot understand a single word you’re saying, good Sir Dickbag,” Cyrus quipped in reply, “Now if you just wanna lie down and let us take your stuff, that’d be swell--”

As Cyrus was speaking, Sir Dickbag moved closer and closer to him, leaning over the smaller figure and looking down at him intimidatingly. He must’ve been almost seven feet tall. As if to show off his brutish strength, he cut off Cyrus’ right arm with a single, powerful swing of his machete. “Yer’ defeated, ya fook!!” proclaimed Sir Dickbag.

“I--... uhm... No I’m not!” Cyrus proclaimed, still bleeding lightly from his stump. The wound closed up quickly, though, and the flow of blood was stopped by his natural regeneration. He had to keep this charade up for a moment longer, at least... “It’s just a flesh wound!”

“Wha--?!” Sir Dickbag was confused. “I’ve cut your feckin’ arm off!”

“Yes, but we’ve bashed your head in!” Cyrus countered.

“What are you talking ab--” Sir Dickbag was interrupted by the thud of Archie’s training sword against the back of his head. One strike wasn’t going to be enough enough, though, as the brute reacted with a wild swing using the spiked bat he was holding in his left hand. Cyrus dodged by rolling under it, grabbing his severed limb up off the ground as he did so. He reared back, holding his right arm with his left.

Cyrus smirked. “Can I give you...”

“I swear, Cyrus,” Archie interjected, “If you say what I think you’re going to--”

“CAN I GIVE YOU A HAND?!” Cyrus used his detached arm to smack Dickbag in the face, confusing him yet further. A sword-strike from Archie to his knee knocked him down to a kneeling position, and a final kick to the face from Cyrus knocked him clean out... or killed him. Cyrus couldn’t tell. Either way, it most definitely broke his jaw and probably caused some head trauma.

“... Well,” Cyrus happily proclaimed, reattaching his arm at the stump and allowing his regeneration to do its work, “To the victor go the spoils! Dibs on the butterfly knife... and Dickbag’s bat.”

“Machete’s mine.” Archie replied, looking down at the corpse of Blake. The brothers were just now taking in what had happened. Suddenly, all of Cyrus’ humour and Archie’s suave bravado vanished. “It’s a damned shame. Blake was one of our better guards.” It was true; Blake wasn’t the most capable of mercenaries, but he was a decent enough shot, and surprisingly loyal for someone with a profit motive. He never complained, and only raised criticisms of the group’s actions when their current course endangered their safety. He had been traveling with the brothers for six weeks now, and Cyrus couldn’t help but feel distraught as he examined the corpse of his fallen friend.

“Well...” Cyrus said, sniffing back a tear, “I... uh... you want his coat? He’s not gonna need it anymore.”

Archie shook his head. “You take it,” he said, grabbing Blake’s hunting rifle. Almost analogous to Blake himself, his gun wasn’t particularly fantastic - a brown, beat-up .22 rifle with a scope attachment - but reliable and useful. Once they’d gathered up the rest of the Forsaken’s things, stopping only to draw a large phallus on Sir Dickbag’s face using a black sharpie, they returned to their truck. They drove on in silence for what seemed like hours as Cyrus began to doze off, getting lost in his thoughts once again...

“Wake up, Cy!” Archibald slugged Cyrus in the shoulder in order to shock him from his slumber. “We’re finally here!”

“Already?” Cyrus mumbled, stretching his arms and rubbing his eyes, “Hgnnmmm... and I was having such a nice dream, too...”

“You spend too much time sleeping, Cy,” Archie added. They had stopped with their vehicle as close to the centre of the town as humanly possible so that the maximum amount of people would see their performance. “Put in your contacts and get ready to perform.”

Cyrus nodded, pulling a small case out of his back pocket. He’d been through this routine dozens of times. Opening it up to reveal a cavalcade of costume contact lenses, he selected two blue ones which matched his brothers and expanded his eye-sockets so that their lids would not get in the way. Considering how practical his immortal powers were and how easy it was for him to conceal his immortality, Cyrus had no qualms using his unique abilities nigh-on every single day. After putting in his lenses, he pulled down the mirror which hung over the passenger’s side of the windshield, ensuring that his face mimicked his brother’s perfectly. He gave a slight smirk as he rapidly sprouted new facial hair until he had a full mustache, much bushier than his brother’s, then exited the vehicle with a cocky spring in his step.

Even long before the performance began, bystanders were beginning to give them odd looks as they walked back behind the truck to open up their gaudy, painted trailer. Cyrus grabbed onto the wooden double-doors on the back and wrenched them open, allowing them to swing as he and Archie entered. Before going inside, he reached in to take out a white bucket marked “donations” and place it on the ground in front of where they would lay down the stage. The trailer was perhaps a bit larger than the truck itself, but looked incredibly cramped, being littered with boxes of costumes and props. A small mirror was in the corner, likely for applying makeup, as well as a long, metal coat rack full of garbs of various sizes. There was a small sleeping area big enough for two small mattresses without frames, one in each of the backmost corners of the trailer, and a long, empty space cutting through the center of all the clutter.

In preparation for their performance, they began to change into their costumes. The costumes were almost identical: two white, flowing, renaissance-looking shirts with tight black pants and sturdy black tap shoes. The only real difference between them was the sash belt on each of the costumes: Cyrus’ was a crimson red, whereas Archie’s was a deep green. They each had matching swords: rapiers, with (painted) gold hilts and steel blades, taken from an abandoned museum and sharpened to a point many years back.

Archie picked up a large mat from a pile of props. It was their substitute for a proper stage, though it essentially amounted to nothing more than a lightly-padded carpet. He towards Cyrus, who pressed his hands against the double doors on the back of their trailer.

“Ready?” Cyrus asked, pressing upon the doors’ levers so that they would open ever so slightly.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Archie proclaimed. As Cyrus pushed the doors outwards, he deftly exited the trailer and stepped to the side, allowing Archie to roll the mat directly out from the back of the trailer. Once the mat had ceased its rolling, Archie turned around and dramatically backflipped into full view. Cyrus was soon to follow, somersaulting across the hard ground to take his place next to Archie on the mat.

“Ah, Russel City!” Cyrus proclaimed loudly and dramatically, “You know, I don’t remember this place being so... dead, do you?”

“No, Sergio,” Archie answered, addressing his brother by his stage name, “I do not! Perhaps it is time that we breathe life into Russel once again, eh?”

“I concur, Archibald!” There was no point in hiding Archie’s name; his face and shtick were well-known already. That didn’t stop both of the brothers from hamming it up, though. “We shall resuscitate this weary town the only way we know how!”

“For we are...” Archie said. He gained a running start, then leaped into the air whilst drawing his sword.

“The two and only...” Cyrus braced himself, drawing his sword and pointing it forward as he prepared for Archie, who landed upon his shoulders, striking a graceful-crane like pose with his sword similarly held out in front of him.

“THE AMAZING MARYSON BROTHERS!” both proclaimed in unison as they froze in a diorama-like spectacle, swords held out in front of them. Cyrus pressed a button on a remote in his left pants pocket, which triggered a bouncy, saxophone tune to begin playing from a speaker inside the trailer. Now was the time for their performance to begin. The dance picked up right away, with Cyrus' feet tapping along the mat. Archie, still on Cyrus' shoulders, swung downwards to hit his brother's sword. As Cyrus moved around the mat in a square, the clang of swords along with the tapping of the shapeshifter’s feet sounded like a percussion section to go along with the saxophone riff. Already, they had drawn a small crowd, and one of them had even noticed the donation bucket. The sound of a dirty round hitting the bottom was one that the brothers knew well, but still one they were happy to hear.

"Oh, in the land of Dust, filled with tiny towns and cities, it’s a hot, dry place, and a little bit shitty,” they began singing in unison, as Cyrus continued to move around on the map while pretending to duel with the brother on his shoulders, ”It’s a pity that to find an itty-bitty of respite,

Archie jumped down from Cyrus’ shoulders, turning to face his brother with his sword. Cyrus’ arm went limp, and he suddenly feigned a fearful expression as he leaned back. As Archie sang this next part, Cyrus backed away slowly, the sword point only an inch from his neck. This part was spoken, as opposed to sung, and in a rather sinister tone to boot: ”People kill and they steal and they bicker--”

”And they fight!” Cyrus “interrupted” Archie by parrying away his sword. Once again, they began to sing in unison, only this time, they both stood on the ground, mirroring each others’ dance moves perfectly as they tapped along. However, though their lower bodies were exactly The sight of it, as well as the sound, were something to behold.

”People stick themselves with needles, people snort and smoke and bleed,”
”And they’ll kill, and they’ll steal, for an ounce of coke or weed,”
”But we’ve got something better than any kind of drug,”
”So prepare to get infected with the Maryson bug,”
”You could lose your heart to hookers, you could lose your brain to booze...”

And now, both brothers stopped dancing for a brief moment, placing their arms around the other’s shoulder, as they sang this next line in a beautiful harmony: ”But with the Maryson Brothers, you’ve got nothing to loooooooose~”

At this point, they both sheathed their swords, and sped up their tap-dancing, substituting words with rapid and calculated movements. The saxophone music stopped altogether, leaving only the sounds of their feet tapping against the mat. For a good minute or so, all they did was dance, switching to different styles as their performance went on. The music eventually returned, switching to a Celtic-sounding fiddle tune, then a Russian choir. Their styles continued to change to match, from river-dancing to cossack dancing, and then more general feats of acrobatics. One highlight in particular featured a similar trick to the one the brothers had amused the Forsaken raiders with: Cyrus tossed his sword high into the air as Archie backflipped towards him. Cyrus stuck his hands out to form a platform, which Archie vaulted off of, grabbing the sword from midair. Of course, he somehow managed to land unscathed.

Eventually, the music returned to the upbeat, saxophone music that they had started with.

”If you’re looking for a good time, we’re better than the others,
Tell your aunt and your uncle and your father and your mother...”

And to finish the opening act of their performance, Archie and Cyrus struck yet another gaudy, hammy pose: ”And see the Magnificent Maryson Brothers!” The end of the number was met with some applause from the now decently-sized crowd which had formed around them. A few more dirty rounds hit the bottom of the donation bucket as Cyrus repeatedly thanked his patrons.

“Anybody have any requests? Songs? Scenes from famous plays? Tricks, perhaps?” Cyrus usually counted on the citizens of Dust not knowing anything too complex or unusual for him to easily perform, what with plays and songs being rather hard to come by, though they occasionally surprised him.

‘Unrest pulsed through the veins of Serenity, the city cried in pain as it bleed, as a battle with a virus was being waged-- no longer contained beneath some transparent surface, but now burning what, at least according to some, kept the city alight with life. With light. Someone prone to seeing symbolism might have considered the city akin to one giant Olympic torch, held by the Motum Diversum, the rebuilding of a civilization who themselves were but a reimagining of the society who lit the world’s first Olympic torch, with fire gifted directly from Prometheus.

The stokers behind the flame; Serenity’s namesake could be derived for what it did for Motum Diversum, and Dust as a whole. Serving as the ‘flame of Dust,’ a thrice revived old world torch, changing owners like a baton, adopting different ideologies as it’s blown out by the winds of change…

...Serenity is no longer that old Serenity. New winds have blown through, winds that have been growing with this once great city since the beginning, helped it grow… we are the forces that have fought for you, for our city. We have extinguished the old flame with the blood of the corrupt and unjust, we have clipped the wings you have cried to for change…

The fighting will soon be over. Cry no more, a new serenity will soon return to you, New Sicily.’

A man sniff comes from particularly rat-like man as he sets a document upon a table, laden with others, “So,” His voice matches his face, with an Italian twinge, “Is this what we’re telling them? Where’s the part about us being charge, eh? Those yokels can’t tell their left nut from their piece!”

“That’s the best part Paolo!” A younger looking version of Paolo replies, “Those idiots don’t care who’se in charge! Long as we keep ‘em drunk with a coupl’a bullets to spare!”

Leaning back in the seat, Paolo considers the words for a moment, smirking and retorting, “Which idiotas? The civvies or the Castalias?”

---

“Ora! Basta!” Lucania brought a hand down on the bar, in front of her, barely filling the main room of the Bitches Brew, was the last hope for Russell City; three Immortals that she barely knew, the few Castalias still loyal to Leoluca and herself, and whatever kind of cult her bartender had started. To say that she was not feeling inspired with confidence was an understatement.

Christ, Mom, I knew you meant change… but this…

“We need a plan,” she said, emphasis on the word ‘plan’-- the Wings weren’t going to hold out forever, in fact, it was her hope they wouldn’t. But once they were finished, she couldn’t try to lay claim to the capital city until the threat that managed to wipe out Motum Diversum’s finest was taken care of. “Leoluca, you take your boys and patrol the streets of the city, we’ve gotta keep civilian casualties as minimal as possible. You and I were attacked last night, Leo, there are still two-bit gangs running around looking for a come-up-- try and convince looters and anyone interested that they can make more helping out Lucania than they could ever lift from a store in a riot. If they’ve got a bias against working for an Immortal remind them of...” She thought for a moment, “Remind them of poor Adam…”

“You got it, boss.”

“Great. Excellent, thank you-- Okay, Bartender, I need you…” Lucania scanned the room, “Wait… where the hell is The Bartender?”

A scraggly looking woman in the crowd was the first to reply, “A spirit journey.”

Lucania’s eyes glazed over, “I’m sorry?” She was getting to be just a bit too old for all of this.

“A spirit journey.” Another meek man parroted.

“No, no. I heard you correctly, I’m afraid I just don’t… quite…” She gripped the bridge of her nose, “He went on a spirit journey?”

“Yes.” Someone else from the peanut gallery of the Bartender’s followers quipped.

“Okay, right, yes thank you. Is suppose I’m just asking what it is that an um,” She gave heavily exaggerated air-quotes, “spirit journey,” Lucania suppressed a chuckle, “entails, exactly.”

The original was the first to speak, “He went to become one with the sands of the desert, so that he may prove his worth as our lord and savior by witnessing the heart of the world and wrestling with his ego.”

“How lovely.”

“He went to become one with himself and the world and all of our residual life energies. He went to die, rise and die again to seek his ideal, true self. To journey the cosmos, and find an ultimate truth, he will rise from the heat, to lead us to cold, decently aged barley salvation.”

“Hmm.” Lucania pondered, “He’s going to desert to lead you to beer?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Lucania blinked, “Okay,” she addressed the group as a whole, “Are you willing to follow my orders until he gets back?”

The Bartender’s followers gave a collective shrug.

“Close enough,” Lucania shrugged in return, “Half of you patrol the perimeter of the city, the other half stay here-- this is our base, we fall back here, protect our call girls and the band… we do not let the Bitches Brew fall, am I clear?”

No response.

Bringing down another fist on the bar, Lucania asked again, this time, at least eliciting a query.

Vladimira raised an eyebrow, “And, the rest of the city? What about that? Won’t do much good if the bar’s standing and everyone outside it is dead and every building is a pile of rubble.”

“You know, in that worse case scenario, that actually doesn’t sound too bad,” Lucania broke into a smirk, “I mean assuming we’re all alive in the bar.”

“True,” Vladimira folded her arms, “but a bunch of rubble and corpses give you neither money nor power.”

“You’re not wrong.” Lucania conceded, “But like it or not, we have got to plan for the worst case scenario… In the worst case scenario, we fall back here… However! If everything goes right…” She addressed the room, “And you bambini’s don’t fuck up too bad, the fighting should only get really bad in the outskirts of the city and the slums. Hopefully, that everyone uses bullets for money doesn’t mean they can’t afford to use a few as actual bullets, you know.. if the time comes…”

“Windcaller,” She pointed to Cullen, “I need you to go to the outskirts, take Octavia with you, you two will be our first line of defense should the Wings find themselves completely decimated--”

Octavia gave an exasperated sigh, “But--”

“Aqcua la bocca!” Lucania shushed, “Fire and wind, I feel like that’s a winning combination for dealing with a horde of hollow, don’t you?”

“I guess…” Octavia whined, “But--”

“But nothing!” Lucania sighed, muttering to herself, “Mucchio di bambini…” After a moment, she spoke up, “Does everyone understand their roles?”

Vladimira leaned back against the wall, “And I’m guessing I have something to do as well? Probably involving yourself?”

“Yes!” Lucania made her way over to Vladimira through the room, now bustling with movement, “I need you to assist me in getting to a radio tower, preferably in one piece.” Lucania stopped short of the woman, noticing for the first time a certain harshness that complimented some of her features. Perhaps that was because this was the first time since yesterday she didn’t feel entirely blinded by her damn contacts? “We’re going to call your brother for reinforcements.”

---

The young boy who looks like Paolo shuffles past a group of guards and enters a suite.

Entering what is the main living room of this suite, he finds it is pristine, larger than most regular houses in Dust, spotless and naturally illuminated from crystal windows and skylights. It is filled with modern art, weapons and women in various stages of being comatose. The walls are a barren, almost bone glowing white, and the carpet is a swirl of bright chinese red silk, and dak red persian cotton it is circular, with doors leading into other, presumably smaller, also circular rooms. all of the furniture is modern, white with red pillows and ovular.

This is the Penthouse suite of the Castalia hotel.

The young boy steps over a groaning woman. He carries with him a binder and a tray of refreshments. Moving briskly, he goes to open a door to one of the Penthouses many balconies. Two silhouettes are in front of him, lounging about before the view of the great ocean only a handful of people will ever get to see. Below the pair of emn is the city of Serenity-- New Sicily.

To the left, far below, is the Juss Do’et Dam, the source of most of Dust’s power, now under new management by the Castalias-- or rather, the Rivera boys. To the right are some of New Sicily’s premiere beach settlements. Behind all three men, far below and in the distance, muffled screams came from the new city, peppered by distant gunshots and explosions. A revolutions was taking place.

“Take it all in, son.” Paolo sat in a recliner to the right, he spoke in a grating gravelly voice and he smoked a cigar that, up until about 16 hours ago, he couldn’t afford on his salary as Serenity councilman and advisor to the Don. Now he was the all of the councilmen, he was above the old wrinkled senile Don-- all his competition was dead, neutered or exiled. He had won, this city was his. He owned it all.

He could afford the Old World Cubans.

Paolo, rat-faced, overweight Paolo, reclining, dressed in half a suit and sunglasses that didn’t fit his face turned to the boy, coughed, and repeated himself. “Did you hear what I said, boy? Take it in!” He coughed again, “This doesn’t come to everyone! You stuck with me-- now we’ve won! You’ve earned this view, son.”

“Yes sir, mista Paolo, sir,” The young man did as commanded. Looking at the distant waves of emerald-aquamarine, he began to think. He knew that Paolo was addressing him as ‘son’ in the colloquial sense, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Paolo actually was his father. It would explain a lot, actually, he was utterly unqualified for this position, he knew it, he was sure Paolo knew it-- nepotism for your bastard child would explain that, and the physical resemblance. “It’s a lovely view, sir.”

“Ain’t it though!” Paolo coughed, taking another puff from the cigar, “You know, I look out at that and you know what I see? I see opportunity-- I see something to be conquered, I see a gem reserved for us lucky few, it’s why men like us govern from the top.”

Paolo’s companion, another overweight man in a chair to the right grunted, the young man remained silent.

With water in his eyes, Paolo coughed again, “What do you see?”

“I guess...” The young man spoke without much thought, “A whole shitload of blue.”

Paolo frowned, “Alright wiseguy, what are you here for anyhow?”

“Oh!” The young man removed a binder from under his shoulder and handed it to Paolo, “Just delivering some initial reports-- the general populace actually supports us! We’ll have the Wings and holdouts cleared out in a few more days, but it seems this city is as good as ours.”

“Excellent.”

“Even better news, boss,” the young man began, “I hear reports of a horde of hollow about to decimate Russel, you know, if we’re lucky, that’ll do in Lucania and Leoluca.”

Paolo’s smile was toothy and yellow, his moustache quivered, “Excellent-- is there anything else?”

“Ahhh, just this food for Mr. Castalia here,” Handing off the platter to Paolo’s reclining companion, the young man exited with a sigh.

After another coughing fit, Paolo gazed with annoyed, narrowed eyes at his companion, a sweaty nervous looking man with a voracious appetite and slicked back hair.

Lucania’s father.

“Eating again, Lucky?”

Luciano tossed up a hand, as if to deflect the statement, “I eat when I get anxious, alright? I, uhh, It’s a real disorder-- compulsive eating-- I’ve got a sickness!”

Paolo leaned back, “You’re just nervous.”

“Nervous?” Luciano scoffed, “My fuckin’ Dad’s dead-- I had a part in killing him, we dismantled the family, I broke the code…”

“Someone had to pull the plug, Lucky.” Paolo said, “It had to be you-- who else could bestow that mercy? You know as well as I do it was time, Luck.”

“You’re right…” Luciano continued eating his caviar.

“The gang was dying-- the Old ways belong in the history books luck.” Paolo took another puff with a light cough, “We adapted with the times, now we run a city. Who could fault us?”

“I might just be worried about my brother, Lucania is my first-born, Paolo--”

“--I know, Luck.” Paolo replied, immediately trying to reign in his exasperation, “They’ll be fine, those two are like two-tailed roach scorpions…” He whispered to himself, “Impossible to get rid of.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Luck… Nothing…” Paolo tossed the half finished cigar over the ledge of the balcony, “Tell me, Luck, when you look at this view, what do you see?”

“When I was younger, I used to come out here when my father was busy. I swore that endless blue was God, or something divine…”

“And?”

“I grew up. Looking at nothing, thinking about God, it didn’t make money. You need to know people to make money. built my Opera booth, I begun observing people, their little quirks--”

“Okay.” Paolo interrupted, “But what do you see when you look out there now?”

“Nothing.” Luciano shook his head, keeping his eyes on the great blue expanse, “Absolutely nothing.”

---

Vladimira raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise, “Pardon my ignorance, but… reinforcements?!” She watched the shorter woman as her thoughts churned. So Andrei was at the head of some organization, and they were going to call him for reinforcements? Just what did he have, a private army?

“Just what kind of organization is he the head of, RSB Group? Some other private army?”

She shook her head, “I mean yeah, sure, I can probably get you to a tower alive, but…” she let the sentence fade. Oh god, this was going to be an escort mission.

The ground gave a sickening squelch as Lucania took a tentative step outside of the bar. The rain had stopped, which was nice, but apparently the ground was still wet. She wondered how long she’d have to deal with wetness stubbornly absorbed by the ground. So far, she wasn’t a very big fan of the rain, it didn’t seem to serve any purpose but ruining make-up and hair.

She committed to the step, realizing already how bad of an idea her heels and long dress were already. Giving an internal sigh, Lucania at least had the good sense to wear black. Looking back from where she held the door open, she turned back to Vladimira, still inside the now emptying Bitches Brew-- they were leaving a golden sanctuary.

“Relaaaax.” Lucania tried to give her best faux smile to the woman, “My Windcaller and Octavia might slow them down, but they won’t be enough. I expect my Uncle and his boys will hold their own, but they simply won’t be enough.” She ran a hand through her hair, “Your brother has enough people-- just enough for strategy. I don’t doubt my message will be intercepted by all manner of spy, so the hope is we get just enough to repel the threat without arising suspicion, or letting anyone, Forsaken in particular, know that Russel may fall. I need you to keep me alive so that I can do this.”

Vladimira was not convinced. “So all I have to do…” she began, “is prevent various angry things that may or may not include a horde of hollows from killing you as we make a blind dash to a radio tower in the hope that my brother will be able to send ‘reinforcements’ in the hope that we’ll somehow be able to keep a bar intact even if an army fails to repel the approaching horde?”

She looked at Lucania, not in the slightest bothered by the mud as it squelched up around her boots, “Yeah, sure, I can probably do that. What direction?”

She stepped back inside the bar for a second, “If anyone touches my gun I will do unspeakable things, am I clear?” before stepping back outside into the rain. “People shouldn’t be much trouble, it’s the things that aren’t people I’m concerned about. Sure we shouldn’t just be doing our best to kill those?”

“Dash?” Lucania scoffed, daintily jumping from any dry ground she could find to the next, “Rushing is unladylike, Vladimira. I think we can afford to spend some time walking, thinking about our next steps-- Oh, we’re going…”

Lucania tapped her chin, eventually taking another step onto something that resembled a half-submerged brick sidewalk, “The tower should be this way, If memory serves correctly. I recall the building having its own power source, in the event of “disasters” such as this, no doubt.” Lucania turned to Vladimira, “Really-- I doubt the hollow spiders will give us too much trouble, initial reports seem to suggest their main strategic advantage is their numbers.” Another small leap, she narrowly avoided the ribbons of the bottom of her dress brushing against the mud, “In an enclosed environment, they’ll make themselves fairly vulnerable to a group of trained men with sufficient firepower.”

Twirling around with a single heel, Lucania faced Vladimira with a calculating smile, “The people are always the trouble-- civilians, politics, opportunists-- Has Motum Diversum even launched an evacuation for the poor and working? These people feel abandoned, that’s bound to ripple into lasting damage, and that’s just domestic issues. The more I think on it, the more I think I-- we your brother and myself, Wintergold, can step in and take over the role of governing body, but even if the transition goes smoothly-- and it won’t-- the moment the Forsaken sense weakness they’ll be on us like wolves, and that’s not even thinking of a Motum Diversum response…”

Lucania span on her heel again, twirling like a ballerina and smiling like a schoolgirl, “You have to enjoy the small reprieves, Vladimira!”

Vladimira folded her arms in amusement. Ladylike? Her? Maybe Lucania, but herself?

She snickered quietly to herself at that thought.

“So basically,” she began, walking forward in the direction Lucania was moving, “We kill the swarm after letting it eat the Wings, or whatever Hollow swarms do, and then bottleneck and turn their numbers against them, incite the people to armed rebellion aided by a small private army and repel the retaliation from both the Forsaken and Motum Diversum? Am I missing anything?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Yeah that seems perfectly doable. Shall we get a move on then?”

“Ohhh…”Lucania pouted toward Vladimira, “You know, you’re no fun, Vladimira. Just because the roses have become venus flytrap monstrosities doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stop and enjoy things when we can!”

“But what if I enjoy destroying those aforementioned venus flytrap monstrosities? What then?” Vladimira smirked, before letting the smile fall off her face, “Seriously though, which direction to the radio tower?”

“Che vuoi! Distensione!” Lucania began, making a quintessential Italian hand gesture, with palms upturned and fingers brought together, “Believe it or not, I actually am taking us in the right direction, we go straight a few more blocks then turn left, past the district gate into the richer part of town. Shouldn’t be too hard to see from there, it’s the tallest tower in the white collar district, it’s got a sky needle and everything.” She skipped from one semi-dry stone to the next.

“You mean it has an antenna.” Vladimira snarked, “The thingy that lets it send signals to other antennas. Generally a long, tall, and thin thing so the signal goes far.” Putting on her serious airs again, she asked, “Any real resistance we can expect to run into? I’m not really at 100% right now, so don’t expect me to be able to fight a war. I’m not really concerned about people, but you never know.”

She pulled her pistols out of their holsters, checking both of them to make sure they were fully loaded, Comrade as well, just in case someone hid behind something. Looking back at Lucania hopping from dryish stone to dryish stone, she sighed in exasperation. “Just take my boots, we need to hurry.” Her boots landed on the mud with a wet squelch as she pulled them off, “Just throw those on so you can stop worrying about your feet, please.”

“Vladimira…” Lucania looked at the pair of muddied, well worn boots wordlessly, a neutral expression painted onto her face, “Your boots... they don’t match my dress. You can’t possibly expect me to wear them with a sound mind.”

Bending down, Vladimira scooped up a handful of mud, “Put on the boots or I throw this mud at your feet. And ruin your dress, at least until it’s washed.”

Lightning crackled, thunder roared, and the light from a nearby bolt illuminated her face, frozen in a manic grin, eyes wide and driven mad with power as the forces of darkness overtook her.

“Mud all over your pretty dress, unless you join me on the dark side!” She thundered before letting out her best maniacal sardonic evil laugh as the lightning flashed once more, casting her eyes in malevolent shadow, thunder boomed, and mud of dress-despoiling dripped through her fingers like a dark, primordial, ancient ooze.

Lucania’s lips parted as Vladimira readied herself with the mud-- the wet soil from the Russell City slums wasn’t even really ‘mud’ so much as it was a ‘mud-like substance’ years of grime, muck and all kind of unpleasant human and animal byproducts dripped like the most horrid pollutant from between Vladimira’s fingers.

Lucania quaked in her heels, trembling on her brick island. She needed to run.

“I swear on the good lord…” Lucania pointed at the wretched filth ball, eyes wide like a sand doe caught in headlights, “If you even come near me with that… Vladimira… I swear I will scream!”

She took a step back.

Vladimira took a step forward, then another. “The boots, they call you.”

“The boots…” Lucania takes another step back, almost slips, and regains her composure, “Are an absolute fashion faux pas!”

“Ah, but see, what if you need to run in those pretty shoes of yours? Imagine the horror, splattered in mud and whatever else in this… whatever this is. The. Horror.” Vladimira took another menacing step forward as she opened her hand to let Lucania view the sludge it held.

Lucania grimaced at the sight, “Th-the whole point of you being here is that I shouldn’t need to run!”

Vladimira stopped, raising an eyebrow, “I’m not bulletproof. Not even a little bit. My job is to keep you from coming down with a bad case of death, which might require you to run.”

“It shouldn’t if you’re good!” Lucania shrugged, “I have nothing against running, I’m just not going to do so in mud. Vladimira, a woman has her limits.”

Vladimira sighed, “I’m good at killing things, escort missions? Not so much. Just put on the boots, so that you don’t slip or something and fall in this… sludge.”

Lucania sighed, with a pained expression, she placed a heel in the mud, “I’ll just clean the heels later,” shaking her head, she elaborated, “by clean I mean burn, of course. I’d much rather lose a pair of off-brand heels than have those clunky things clash with my Old World designer one-piece. There are only three like it in the world, you know. I must do it justice.”

Rolling her eyes, Vladimira wiped her feet on a nearby more or less clean rock and slipped back into her boots, “Clunky, sure, but also nigh indestructible.” She began walking towards the tower, “Honestly, what persuaded you to wear a dress like that in these circumstances? Surely you’ve got something more suitable for, oh I don’t know, life or death scenarios?”

“I refuse to fear death, my dear Russian companion,” Lucania followed Vladimira toward the radio tower, mirth in her eyes, “If I’m to die, I’d much rather do so in Balenciaga’s finest.”

(Contains a torture scene.)

Spiraling shades of red, reflecting blood money, reflecting expensive gemstones, reflecting a consumerists soft drink in the old world. Both rich reds, receding rotary to meet round, rotund, rotating walls. Those reds roaring with a ravenous rebellion. Racing ‘round radially, radical reds requite and repulse. Rabbit fur roads-- one is-- residual radio glows right into the eyes. Raked resting foot-rags, they read a real readily revealed desire to… randomly ram, rant retinal ransoms, and ransack rarities.

The carpet of Paolo’s white penthouse was like… Roses.

Really though, those expensive red rugs in Paolo Rivera’s room were more of a hybrid carmine and soft maroon. Although they practically radiated, comparable to a redundantly ridiculous ruby, it was doubtful those sinister intertwining carpets were the first thing on anyone’s mind who entered Paolo’s penthouse. The floors, furniture, and appliances of his home were lined, seemingly at random, with women in various states of undress, consciousness, and possibly, various stages of consent.

Among those women, Lucy Castalia-Rivera, wife of Paolo, had the night before, managed to shoot up, smoke, and consume more designer drugs than every other person in the room. She woke with a migraine bordering on aneurysm, the feeling as though she were about to vomit, a distinct sense that she was constantly leaving her body, an inability to stand on her own, and the smell of rancid horse dung clinging to her body. Her eyes opened red. Close up, they were indistinguishable from the carpet.

For some reason, she found herself dressed in a bikini made out of candy, a purple tutu, and a hat with some pre-fall ‘ATL’ acronym. Looking around, she stole a pair of aviators from one of the birds in Paolo’s harem. She could rock this ‘fit.

Stumbling to the door, retching to give whatever she still had in her stomach to the red carpet, she eventually opened the balcony door. She had made a good call in getting the shades, even with them the day was unbearably bright. She felt like cat hair was in her blood. Paolo was alone, reading some documents. Lucy stumbled over to the edge, to dry retch over the side of the balcony.

Paolo guffawed, “I see my wife was the first to stir, as always.” His expression became more serious, “Look at all of that blue, as my queen, it’s all yours now.”

Lucy threw up again.

“I sent your father to get rid of the body,” Paolo said, “Your grandfather. How do you feel about that?”

“I…” She slurred, “Man, I really fuckin’ don’t.”

“What about Lucania and Leocuca?”

Lucy wiped the spittle from her lips, “What about ‘em?”

“Ah.” Paolo leaned back, “Of course you haven’t heard of the swarm… It’s lucky you got here when you did, really.”

Lucy’s red eyes went wide behind her shades, “What?”

“Oh, I was just saying it was lucky you--”

“No!” Lucy, falling over herself, stumbled to Paolo, “I waannaa know ‘bout tha SWARM you fat fuck!”

“Oh that? It’s just some nonsense going on at Russel City, none of our business, really.”

Lucy was practically at the point of tears, “LUSHANA’S AT RUSS YOU MOTHERFUCKER?”

Paolo smiled nonchalantly, his moustache quivered, “Is she?”

“AHH GOTTTA RAYYDO HER NAO!!” Lucy lurched toward the door as fast as a body with 0 muscle control would allow.

“Ah, radio...” Paolo feigned thought, “Floor 58.” Paolo opened back up his folder, “Oh, and wife?”

Lucy stopped, propping herself against the doorframe to the balcony, she gave an annoyed sigh. Meaning ‘what,’ and meaning so much more than that.

“Rivera’s boys doesn’t have the same ring as Castalia’s-- you know? Can you think of a good name.” Lucy didn’t turn. Paolo’s shit-eating grin was audible, “I’m thinking… Epicureans?”

Lucy held a hand to her bumping head, somehow, her synapses were firing off, “Acsually… that wouldn’t work…”

“What?” Paolo turned toward her, “What would you know about it?”

“I… don…” Lucy shrugged, still facing the inside of the apartment, “Lululucania taught me about it, you ain’t an Epicuran, you’re like a He… He… Heda…”

Paolo frowned, “Hedonist?”

“Ye.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You…” Lucy took a step inside, “You’re sad… and you don wanna be happy.”

---

“YOU WANNA STEP TO US, CUZ???”

“NAH BRAH, I WANNA STEP OVER YOU.”

“HOMIE, I’LL FUCKING CAP YOU.”

“HE AIN’T YOUR HOMIE DOG--”

“DOG, LOOK AT THIS DUDE--”

“WHAT YEAR IS IT, 2200? JESU--”

“SHUT THE FUCK U--”

“FUCK YOU--”

“YEAH WEL--”

“SHI--”

Voices overlapped as the yelling escalated. Two parties bickered over turf, over money, over innocent civilians. The authorities were gone, now the gangs were stepping in. Who were they?

One group, Lucania came to understand to be the 29th Street Reeboxxx Boys. A merger of sorts, formed by treaty from the ‘29th Street Thug’s Angels’ of hood legend, only rivaled in gangsta prowess by the Grove Street Family; ‘The Reboxxx Boys-- underdogs with a knack for parkour; and a revival of the once prolific street gang ‘The XXX Harmony,’ apparently men from the XXX had children-- which was no surprise, they were refined pimps and generally charismatic-- and their children followed in their imprisoned or deceased father’s footsteps.

The gang of scrappy adolescents and young adults was incredibly well dressed, with unstylish, out of date shoes, and weapons that looked like pipes with triggers glued on as an afterthought. They were ready to prove themselves.

They could be of use to her.

Of course, convincing the boys to fight hollows on her behalf would be easier said than done, especially with their current squabble with the 737 Adidadas Gods-- they were collectively something of a wildcard. What they lacked in the finesse the 29th Street Reboxx Boys possessed, they made up for in raw numbers, and slightly better firepower.

Lucania, looking on further down the alley couldn’t help but compare this to some seen from a tape, like school kids in an Old World sitcom. The civilians caught between the two groups just looked bored.

“So…” Lucania turned to Vladimira, “What do you think?”

“I think I see three possible outcomes to this. One, I slaughter them all and hang their bloodied carcasses from the walls; Two, I disarm them and we make them play nice and shoot at Hollows instead of each other; Three, I disarm them and they scurry like rats.”

Vladimira looked ahead at the scene with distaste, “Can’t say which one I favor the most, honestly.” She’d never really liked street gangs, if only because they were impossible to understand half of the time. “Have a preference?” She asked, glancing sideways towards Lucania.

Lucania’s face portrayed as much surprise as she allowed herself to feel, “My word…!” She further portrayed abject shock with a playful glitter in her artificially brown eye, “I can’t very well see the use in killing them all! It’d be a waste of money, time, and… ummm... human life!” Lucania chided, “No, I’d much prefer option two if we could pull it off. They could set an example for others…”

The problem being, people in the age group, in the economic situation of these small street gangs, tended not to respond to orders very well. For order to take place, they’d need to think it was their idea.

Lucania began to strut forward, toward the verbal skirmish, “Coming?” Lucania looked back to Vladimira, “I want to talk to the non-affiliated people caught in between.”

“Fine by me, just try not to make them all start shooting at us.” Vladimira started forward after her employer, scoping out the two gangs as well as the civilians in between. Scrap rifles, rags, and clothes that might’ve been nice at some point, she wasn't concerned.

Regardless, she opened the flaps on her holsters, just in case. She didn’t have goggles, and took full advantage of the fact that her eyes glowed like angry pools of metal, treating all present to the best withering glare she could muster. She gave the small gathering one last glare, muttering out the corner of her mouth, “Do you want me to interject, or would you like to do all the talking?”

“You…” Lucania tried to give her most polite smile, “I don’t believe speaking, without using… over using... intimidation is your greatest strength, Vladimira.”

“Really?” A man spoke above the bickering in the streets. He was bespectacled, balding and brown. He wore a playful smirk on his face, the threadbare work clothes of someone of little means… or perhaps means, but little desire to change. He was at least 50 years old. “Lil’ rough ‘round the edges, sure, but she’s easy ‘nough on the eyes.” The man winked at Vladimira.

Vladimira’s face was indignant as she groused in Lucania’s general direction, “I can be nice!” then more quietly to herself, “When I’m drunk.”

She looked back up at the man, raising an eyebrow, “I’d say something in response to that, but last time that happened I started a religion. So, y’know, I’ll just let you talk to her.” She jerked her head towards Lucania, holstering her guns as she did so. Keeping her guns out probably wouldn’t help with diplomacy. “I’m just gonna stand here now, mm‘kay?”

“That’s fine.” Lucania glanced toward the small crowd of Russel City’s slum residents, they gathered around the doors of their rundown homes and establishments looking on at the bickering gangs with worry in their eyes. She addressed the crowd, “They aren’t going to start fighting, I hope you are aware of that.”

The old Black man was the first to reply, distrust in his voice as he looked Lucania over. Compared to these people her privilege practically radiated off of her, “Wha’chu know ‘bout it?”

“I know that if they start,” Lucania gestured to Vladimira, “I’ve got the means to make them stop, should speech not suffice to persuade an armistice between them.”

The man scoffed, “I know you… I know yo’ type… come here, thinkin’ y’all can change how it is. Thinking y’all know what’s best fo’ us…” He outstretched his arms, behind him was the rainbow of a crowd of those afflicted by the extreme poverty of Dust. They were ‘lucky’ enough to live in a city, often under worse conditions than their chances in the desert.

They seemed to have gathered behind the man, all wearing old world rags in a cruel solidarity, apparently this man was some sort of representative. “You’ll either take what you want and get on, or give up an’ leave us worse than before! So get on! We don’t need y’all, an’ y’all don’t need what we got here! This here an issue fo’ family-- and y’all ain’t it, so leave this to us an’ get… or… or we’ll make you get!”

Silence.

“You deaf!?” The old man practically spat. He was annoyed, he was tired-- they all were-- it appeared no one here had been informed about the approaching spider threat. To him, this was just another way in which the rich were looking to steal from them, or the Wings and Motum Diversum were looking to keep them as good little tax cows. He was angry, he had the respect of his peers, he was ready to fight.
You can use that to your advantage.
Mmm… Yes. That’s good, you just need to redirect that energy…

He took a step forward, “I said, is you d--’

“Could I trouble you for your name, sir?” Lucania matched the man’s step forward with her own.

“What?”

“Your name.” She tried to match the sincerity of the old man-- she could sense how much he cared about a better life for himself and those he lived with-- the hope was that he could detect her intentions weren’t trying to profit off of that… not entirely anyway. If he even whiffed the faintest hint of condescension, this could become hostile fast. She extended her hand, hoping organic two-headed buzz honey really would work better than Wolfwater salt vinegar.

The two went silent for a moment. Lucania could feel the eyes of each member of the crowd on the two, and the old man trying his damndest to crack any facade she might have up.

Luckily for her, the mildly isotopic honey worked.

“Troy…” Adjusting his glasses, Troy met Lucania’s dainty hand with his own, calloused and aged, he jostled her body with his firm handshake, “Fool’s around here call me ‘Old Troy,’ though, don’t know why, I ain’t a day over 60.”

“Perhaps they see you as wise?”

Old Troy scoffed a second time, “Wise my ass!” This elicited a mild laugh from the crowd “They jus’ mad I’m still up an’ workin’ harder than them AND they kids!” As laughter began to die down, Lucania notice his gaze had never left her, it was clear that he was watching her closely-- he was nervous, perhaps. Scared of what she could do. Even with the contacts, he could tell she was an Immortal. Was it just that obvious? Or was he extremely perceptive? “Now, I apologize fo’ my behavior-- I ain’t a hood, that wasn’t called fo’-- but still, you need to take your bodyguard--”

“Bodyguards.” Lucania corrected. With something of a shrug, she muttered to Vladimira, “Carmela is always watching… somewhere.”

“Bodyguards,” He corrected himself and continued without missing a beat, “and go on and get. We can handle this issue ourselves, miss…?”

“Lucania.” She answered, the soft smile hadn’t yet left her face, “And I know you can. I’m not here to talk about that, not yet, at least.” She paused, allowing time for Old Troy and most of the crowd to process what she meant, “I want to talk about you.”

“Us?” The crowd murmured, Old Troy crossed his arms.

“I want to inform you all of something, and then ask something of you.”

A what seemed to be hours of silence, a scantily clad woman in the crowd was the first to ask for elaboration. She must have worked in one of Russel’s other brothels.

“The Motum Diversum government…” Lucania began, going into detail about the evacuations for the wealthy and connected that had taken place the night before, of the threat of the massive hollow spider horde approaching from the west, that the Wings had essentially all gone off to fight while evacuations to Laguna, Parkland, and Serenity took place, how the city was completely empty, save for those like them, the poor and working class, whom the city thought it would be too expensive to transport.

She was met at first with silence, some even rejoiced at the idea of the city being theirs. Then panic.

Lucania prepared her Voice to quell the crowd, and to her surprise, was quickly beat to the punch by Old Troy, who whistled loudly enough to startle even Lucania. He hadn’t ever stopped looking at the short woman, and after the cries of abject horror died down, he spoke directly to her. “So, you come to tell us we all gon’ die and whut, you want us to fight for you? Is that it?”

Why won’t you just trust me!

You can’t lose patience.

“N-no!” Lucania noticed shock in the crowd at her outburst, she thought over what she needed to say as she regained her composure. The soft smile returned, “No, Troy. I want… for those of you, for everyone in the city who is unable to fight, for children, for mothers, for the old and sick, I want for them to receive an opportunity to receive the same safety those already evacuated got.”

She approached the growing crowd directly, Old Troy stood off to her side, “I have vehicles in Laguna I can have here in an hour-- it won’t be enough for the remaining population of the city, but it will be a start-- my evacuation should begin well before the hollow breech the walls. I want everyone who remains in the city, and wants to leave, to know I will get them out alive.”

A wave of relief seemed to wash over everyone, father’s smiled, mother’s laughed. Lucania continued. “For everyone unable to travel, and for those who miss the first few rounds of limos, the Bitches Brew has rooms, running water, food and it will remain safe. I’ve personally seen to it…”

Amongst cheers from the crowd, a skeptic spoke out, a young man who looked like Jesus with blonde hair; “And what do you want from us!?”

Fealty.

“What do I want from you…?” Lucania whispered, repeating the phrase half to herself. The crowd looked on expectantly, even Old Troy, whose features had begun to soften, looked intrigued. “I suppose I want you to fight, those among you willing and able to, at least.” The crowd became silent, “And I won’t pretend like I don’t want you to fight for me, because I do.” Some faces turned dour, “But it isn’t just that. I also want you all… to fight for yourselves.”

“What?” Old Troy and Blonde Jesus asked at the same time.

“You and I…” She motioned her arm across the crowd, “We all want the exact same thing.”

Blonde Jesus’ friend, Brunette Judas piped in from the crowd, “How do you figure that?” Others asked similar questions. Lucania let the chatter die down before speaking.

“Freedom.”

Nice save.

She had won the crowd back.

“For years you’ve come to resent the people you make rich. They eat Wolfwater Lobster and sip on Aqueon wine, while you struggle to keep enough bullets in your piece to protect yourselves.” She looked around the crowd, there were children, hand in hand as brother and sister, fathers and sons, mothers holding their babies. The weren’t a tired people, they were resilient. They were workers, who lived in a world that continually tried to keep them from organizing to improve their slots in life. “This world is a harsh one, full of hardships only you’ve faced, I couldn’t even begin to understand what some of you’ve been through just to make it to today alive. You’ve felt trapped in this situation-- because you were! You couldn’t just leave the city and chance it in the Sand Sea! No matter how hard you worked your cazzo boss would always just promote his nephew, and any chance to rest you got, you were either harassed by a Wing or ignored by one when you needed help.” Lucania smirked, her voice progressively got louder as she continued, “Am I close at all?”

A resounding ‘yes’ from the crowd.

Lucania’s smile widened as she paced in front of the gathered crowd-- the gangs a few blocks behind her had begun to simmer down, taking notice, “Of course I am. You’re the workers-- the majority-- yet you find yourselves in a position where you make the minority rich, where your taxes keep an oppressive government lording it’s hired thugs over you,” She took a breath, “Where men like Adam Worth stay in power-- able to take advantage of our daughters, our sisters, our… lovers…”

She let the words hang in the air for a moment. The name brought back memories of her public display a few days ago. Recognition of who she was in the crowd glittered through the eyes of the crowd-- as well as emotion. Emotion that she found herself, teary eyed, feeling an absolute empathy with the crowd.

She wiped the tears and continued with an even fiercer conviction, “My name is Lucania Castalia, first of my name, heiress to the Castalia Family empire and fortune, enemy of Motum Diversum, Immortal bigots, and those ignorant who work the hardest so that we may all prosper since birth!” The crowd hung on her every word, “I want you to fight with me, and for yourselves, to defend this city, your city, and secure it yourselves!”

If she didn’t have a built in megaphone with her voice, the crowd would have drowned her out then and there.

“I want you to secure your own freedom!”

The applause may have continued for an hour if Old Troy, who even found himself clapping a little, hadn’t stepped up to speak.

“Yeah, that’s all well and good Miss Castalia, but just us ain’t gonna do no good! And what about weapons? We ain't got none worth half cameldonkey’s shit! What we s’pose to do? Punch the spiders?”

“Not quite…” Snapping open her purse, Lucania pulled out her own revolver. It was stylized with her own personal crest, as well as that of the Family, it felt cool and heavy in her hand. Heavier than the last time she’d held it. She wondered if guns rusted the longer you don’t use them as she removed a single bullet from the chamber. She held the bullet, betwixt long fingers, for the crowd to see.

“For years you’ve been told that this is power...” She tossed the engraved golden bullet into the crowd, it landed in the middle of a group of extremely exited Indian children, their mothers, like the rest of the crowd, looked on with interest. “Today, I’m telling you that it isn’t-- no more so than a Serenity workman’s hammer or a Gaen doctor’s syringe-- it’s a tool. A tool for killing men, a tool for commerce, a tool enabling you to do the things you want. It’s a useful tool, but a tool, nonetheless. Do you want to know where real power comes from? Things that are denied you because the powers that be fear them in your hands…?”

She allowed the crowd to hang on her every… last… word…

“Real power…” She spoke softly as she knelt down, and poked the forehead of a small Hispanic girl with hair longer than her body, standing at the very front of the crowd. She giggled as Lucania stood back up. “Real power, is thought… Real power is knowledge of history… it’s…” She outstretched her arms, as if to say to the crowd ‘All of you.’

“Real power is organization.” Lucania turned to Old Troy, “You don’t have enough people? Well then organize! I’ll broadcast to all the radios in the city once I finish calling for backup and evacuation, but you all need to speak to your neighbors, look for guns left behind in the wealthy districts and get everyone left behind here for the cause of fighting for Russel. I know there are more Immortals in the slums, the more you get fighting, the better chance we have, and the fewer guns we need.”

Old Troy thought for a moment, “You’re…” He sighed, “You’re right.” He removed his glasses and simply stared Lucania down for a moment, their equal height made the experience all the more surreal, “I still don’t know quite what to make of yew, Miss Castalia…” He shook his head, “But if this work, it might be the first time in my life I ever did somethin’ worth anythin’...”

Attempting to hide her blush, Lucania responded, “First I want you to focus on that…” Lucania pointed toward the gangs, whose argument had now come to a complete standstill as they stood looking at the crowd Lucania had rallied, “We need the gangs of the city fighting for the city-- not each other. Those are your brothers, sons and friends, approach them all at once and they’re bound to listen to you.”

“Yep.” Old Troy took his eyes off Lucania for a moment to gaze at the gangs, at one boy in particular, who seemed horrified to be noticed. Turning back to her, he sighed and looked down, “Gon’ be a lot of graves to dig…”

Oh, certainly.

I know

Without thinking, Lucania looked at the crowd, their homes, the awnings of businesses they huddled under, their excited faces, they seemed ready to fight, ready to... She’d won them over. “Death walks hand in hand with struggle.” She half-muttered in response.

Old Troy’s eyes widened at the statement, “I actually… I recognize that.” He smirked, “Like an ole family motto… Where’d you hear it?”

“Stokely Carmichael.”

For a moment, a glimmer of vulnerability could be seen across Old Troy’s wrinkling brown features, “My fear was never death, but death without meaning.” The vulnerability was replaced with an almost insane determination. He closed his fist and raised it high, “Salaam alaikum.”

Lucania returned the gesture, “Alaikum salaam.”

“Let’s go, y’all.” Old Troy nodded to Lucania, and with the crowd behind him, they accosted the gangs. Where there had once been two gangs arguing over territory, there were now squabbling families, friends, neighbors… all trying to impart that same idea. The slums were all that remained of Russel City, and they needed to fight for that, for themselves and their families, friends, and neighbors, not each other.

Lucania couldn’t help but feel rather proud of herself as she looked on at the people starting to organize into teams, presumably to recruit more citizens and look for weaponry. It was minor, but at their fastest Moscow Echo and Wintergold would take a few hours here.

She’d bought Russel City a fighting chance! Wouldn’t Rosemary be so proud.

A young girl-- the same Latin Rapunzel she’d poked before now tugged on her dress. Lucania smiled at the girl. She couldn’t help but feel happy. “Miss Lucania…?”

“Lucia’s fine.” Lucania knelt to the girls level, “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“Umm…” The girl twirled her long black hair between her fingers, adorably, “I was wondering when you said you had a Russian, I was confused and I wanted to know what is a Russian?”

“What is a Russian…?” Lucania glanced to the stoic Vladimira, at the ready this entire time, then back to the girl, “Does your mama ever drink stuff you aren’t allowed to drink?”

The little girl gave an insanely cute hyperbolic nod.

“Is it ever clear?”

The little girl thought for a second and gave another nod.

“Is it in a long bottle?”

The little girl tilted her head and thought kawaii thoughts in a sugoi manner, before responding “Sometimes.”

Lucania nodded sagely, “And does it make her face go like…” Lucania scrunched up her face, prompting the most innocent, precious, adorable, and harmonic laugh ever vocalized out of the long haired, peanut colored young girl. “Well…” Lucania continued as the beautiful angel laughs subsided, “That’s called vodka!”

“Vodka…?” The girl said sweetly.

Lucania nodded, “Mhmm! And Russians are like vodka, but in people form!”

“Wow… That sounds… umm… harsh, Miss Lucia.” This lovely little girl was crazily endearing. Lucania almost wanted one.

“Oh, they can be…” Lucania glared at Vladimira, “They might make you stumble and almost ruin your favorite dress…like vodka...” She looked back at the girl, christ she was moe, “But like vodka, a whole bunch of them are fun at a party! I’m actually about to call a bunch here now, at the top of that radio tower.”

“Oh wow!” The girl gasped in a way that made Lucania’s heart skip a beat, “So it’ll be like a giant party here!”

“Yep-- although it’ll be a grown-up party. But don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it afterwards!”

“Aww really!” Jumping, the girl wrapped her arms around Lucania’s neck in hug, “Thanks big sis! You’re the best!” Lucania briefly wondered how it was possible for a human to be this cute.

As she skipped away, back towards the crowd, she yelled back to Lucania “I can’t say the places name, because my Mama says it’s bad, but I’ll be in the Brew place with her while my Papa helps with the party planning!”

Lucania broke out of her statuesque state of endearment to throw back a response, “What should I call you?”

“Aiai!” The girl laughed as she skipped off, in a carefree bliss of the world around her, “I’ll see you soon big sis!” Lucania envied her. And now had a whole other reason to bear the mantle as the new autocrat of Russel City, in the name of the Castalias.

She had to protect Aiai.

You have to do it for her.

Confident that nobody else was in earshot, Vladimira walked over to Lucania. “That went from serious and inspiring to ‘I have to hold in the squee’ levels of adorable in about… half a second.” She watched Aiai skipping away, “Though I can do a bit more than ruin dresses, I like to think.”

“The dress is ruined regardless…” Lamenting, Lucania brushed all the mud off of her knees as she stood. “It was well worth it though, and you’re right, that was easily one of the most adorable encounters I’ve ever had in my life…” She sighed, “Perhaps next time you can tell her how you two share dress ruining as a hobby? You’ll hit it off, I’m sure.” She took a step forward. They needed to make for the radio tower--

“BLOoOoOooODY SLEeeEeEVES!!” A voice coming from an alleyway screeched her name-- a dry squawk bouncing off the dark tin towers of the slums. It was strained, like whomever the voice belonged to had been screaming, or perhaps crying that name, her alias, for hours.

“Yes?” Lucania didn’t approach the source of the warped voice, but looked to its source, a place where shadows only just concealed a man. From what she could tell, he was skinny and pale, an angry junkie perhaps? “How can I help you?”

“[i][b]Is THAT what you call the ‘second chance’ you give people? That everyone gets?[/i][/b]” He was laughing as he spoke. There was something deeply off about the man’s cackle, there was something… not quite fear inducing… but more… unsettling. Lucania’s stomach churned, her heart felt as though it might stop, and she was unsure as to why. “You bitch! I bet they don’t even know what you would have done to them if they’d have disagreed! They’re all lucky little spoiled brat got what she wanted…”

Squinting didn’t reveal anything new about the man, “I don’t…” After an apprehensive glance toward Vladimira, Lucania risked a step forward, “I’m sorry?”

“[i][b]You… you don’t even remember me do you!?[/i][/b]” The man laughed, “You… y-how? How do you just mutilate people and not even remember it? You murder four people like it was nothing! You just…” He laughed again, hysterically, he stopped his pacing and almost fell out of his spot in the shadows. He moved a little closer as he regained his composure, “[i][b]Your family must hate you… shit! Almost as much as I do![/i][/b]”

What?

What?

“[i][b]I don’t even care that haven’t even figured out who I am yet, you thick motherfucker! I’m just glad I get to be the one to see you die![/i][/b]” He took another step forward, revealing an eyepatch and an expensive looking handcannon.

Lucania,

Wait what was--

you need to get out of here.

“You won’t get a second chance, Bloody Sleeves! This one’s for my boys!”

Run!

--going on?

Yell for your friend!

He raised his gun. Time began to slow.

Do something!

This is bad, you need to get out of here…

Don’t just stand there

“By order of Paolo Rivera, you dumb broad!”

and die!!

Turn. Run. Now.

Please!!!

[i][b]BANG. BANG[/i][/b]

Please don’t die!

Endorphins pumped through her body at breakneck speed, and as the pain of the lead hit her, for Lucania, time stopped. She knew she had been shot, she recognized exactly who it was that shot her, why he did it, and who gave him the means to carry out the assassination.

The man was as good as dead. Vladimira was already in the process of retaliation. That was good. She was pleased that the one-eyed man who had shot her would be dead soon.

Her mind ran possibilities as she fell backward, consciousness slowly drifting away. She needed medical attention, she could feel it, but she’d be fine.

She’d only been shot.

Well, actually she’d been grazed. Once. The pain pulsed through body still. It was red hot. Hotter than the sand, hotter than sun. It felt like a metallic fire, spreading from one spot across her body like a cancer made of molten lava.

Lucania wanted to cry and scream and go to sleep forever, but ti me was mov ing too slo w.

BANG. BANG.

Fuck!

F uck.

He got off two more sh ots. One actu ally hit this ti me ! Base d on the pain s he was fe eling, it wa s near the sho ulder… She co uld n’t eve n…

t H i N K

Th ere wa s just t hat na ggin g hidden vo i ce, be g ging h er t o be oka y.

Ti me ret urne d to no romal

//L u cia fal l bo ckv va rds, , to we re dd th

[b][i]Time slowed down.[/b][/i]

Vladimira saw the one eyed man pull his gun. She’d started reaching for her own pistols the moment he showed up, but it couldn’t have been more than a second or two until he’d drawn his gun and fired twice. She could swear she saw bullet trails in the air as they slammed into Lucania. It was like some old world action movie, she watched wide eyed as her employer fell straight to the ground.

It had happened so fast but so slow, too fast for her to react, too slow for her not to watch in agonizing detail.

[b][i]Time sped up.[/b][/i]

He was running. Running like a sniveling coward. She glanced at Lucania laying motionless on the ground. A shoulder wound. And one that’d grazed her eye. Not immediately lethal, but could be if she didn’t act fast enough. Shit.

Manic laughter pulled her attention up. The stranger with the eyepatch was laughing as he ran- she’d have to fix that.

“Don’t move.” She grumbled to the still form of Lucania as she lunged into motion after the fleeing shooter. Gunshot wounds peppering his legs, a gentle river of blood flowing into the san- She shook her head to clear it, pumping her legs into the sand even harder as she raced after him.

He wasn’t going to get off that easily.

Bringing one of her guns up, taking aim and firing two shots, firing another two shots. All four missed. Shit.

She brought the other gun up, firing it and the pistol she’d already shot until their magazines were empty. Bang! Bangbangbangbangbangbang bang bang! Nothing connected.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Throwing the guns to the side she flexed her hands and a cloud of scrap metal flew out of the various pouches on her belt, forming into wickedly pointed spikes. “JUST SLOW DOWN A BIT!” She screamed at him as she launched the mass of spikes in his direction. He stumbled and went sprawling, at least three of the spikes sticking out of his legs and one appeared to have lodged itself in his buttocks. Despite the circumstances she had to resist the temptation to giggle at the sight, instead dragging the man to his feet and throwing him against a wall. He’d dropped his gun as he fell, and she bent down to pick it up. He wouldn’t be needing it anymore, after all.

Rounding on the shooter, she grabbed him by the neck and began dragging him back to where Lucania’s hopefully still breathing body lay, ignoring her pistols as she did so. She could pick them up later.

Thankfully, Lucania was alive.

“Right, don’t move even think about moving.” She hissed at the man as she threw him against another wall, then had second thoughts. “Actually, just in case…” She muttered, making a generic gesture with her hand as two of the recollected spikes buried themselves in his hands, anchoring him to the wall. She would deal with him momentarily.

Turning back to Lucania’s body she looked about uncertainly. How the hell was she supposed to treat a bullet wound? Press on it?

Hell if she knew, but it was the best idea she had of things. She rummaged in her rucksack, pulling out what could possibly pass for a first aid kit, but was in reality a bandage and a small bottle of isopropyl alcohol that she was pretty sure could be used to sterilize it, and any impromptu bandages. Glancing over her shoulder to assure her that the mysterious shooter hadn’t escaped, she hastily poured a small amount of the alcohol over the bandage to… make it clean, she guessed. Arclight didn’t have first aid lessons.

She wrapped the bandage tightly around Lucania’s shoulder, pressing on it as hard as she felt was safe to try and stop the bleeding. Hopefully that’d be enough to keep it under control for now. Lucania’s eye… she didn’t have anything for that.

A figure dropped from the roof of one of the slums, makeshift towers, landing muffled next to next to Vladimira. The woman, always without words, always without expression-- held in her eyes grief and contempt twofold. She was on the verge of tears and murder, and apparently, she didn’t care that her red, angry red bloodshot eyes, betrayed that. A second’s distraction may have cost Lucania her life… She knew what she needed to do, but she needed satisfaction, even a moment’s so, before anything.

Carmela brushed past Vladimira without so much as acknowledging her presence. In reality she was pleased the man had been unable to evade her, but right now, all her focus was on that pathetic, crying… laughing… one-eyed man. She marched over to where he was propped against the wall, and promptly ended any semblance of laughter by shooting the man in the groin. Then, with a metal spike of her own, she removed the man’s eyepatch and pressed the rusted screwdriver into a scabbed over razor wound, as far as she dared without damaging his brain to the point he couldn’t speak.

Where before laughs had turning into pained cries, she was met now with the screams of the damned. Standing, she cracked a smirk and walked back to her employer and Vladimira, giving the woman a nod.

“‘Er uncle’s been shot more than a few times,” She spoke low in her Briton accent, “I’ll get ‘er to ‘im.” Gently, like a mother with a sleeping child, she knelt down and picked up Lucania’s unconscious form, “We can rendezvous at the pub after you’ve finished,” Contempt filled her voice as she addressed the screaming man a few feet away from them, “with tha.”

Beginning to walk, employer and friend in her arms, she gave Vladimira one last, sincere look, “Make ‘im suffer.”

With that, she was off, Lucania in tow. Vladimira was left alone in the alley with the man.

Why the hell would someone just randomly show up and shoot at her? What’d she done to that man to apparently drive him insane?

Time to find out.

Rounding on the man staked to the wall of some building, a few shards of metal coalesced in her hand to form a long, thin, knife like blade.

Amidst cries of pain, the man half-spat and half-laughed as he was approached by the woman. “Aha…” He was beginning to lose his voice, it wavered weakly from his continued screaming and blood loss, “What’cha gonna do with that? Cut me some more? Torture some answers out of me?”

She continued walking towards him until she stood right over him, not saying a word she knelt down and looked him in the eye, grabbing his hand and raising the knife. “Nice trigger finger you’ve got there. That’ll be the first to go, hope you enjoyed your time with it.” Pressing the knife deliberately into the joint where his finger met his hand, she began cutting, ignoring his reaction until she’d severed all the connecting flesh. “You ready? You might feel a slight tug.” She gripped his finger, pulling gently on it, then harder, then harder, and harder and harder and harder until she gave it a sudden yank and ripped the digit off, wrapping it in a rag and pocketing it. “Never know what a piece of scum’s trigger finger is good for, right?” She smiled cheerfully as she picked up her knife, jamming it through his already punctured hand and into the wall.

“Now,” she began, her voice dropping to the point where it was more of a bestial growl than a human voice, “there are four ways we can go about this. One is, you tell me what I want to know and I make your death quick, maybe just shoot you, not too painful. Second option, I drag this out a little until you tell me what I want to know, maybe a few splinters under your fingernails, some niiiiice long slices in various parts, y’know, not much fun. Third option, I really have some fun until you tell me- oh just imagine what I could do; so many fun places to play with, wonder how it’d feel if I pulled out your other eye, let you sit there in blind agony as I decide what to do next, hmm? And last, and what I, and probably you, would prefer the least, I resign myself to the fact that you’re a good little brainless pawn and won’t squeal about your boss’ plans and simply turn you into a lump of ground meat, slowly, ever so slowly, first I’d start with your feet, and skin those, then each little piggy gets to go free, one by one, then there are bones… You get the picture?”

She let her words sink in for a minute before leaning in closer, giving him the most sincerely sickeningly saccharine smile she saw suiting the situation. “So?” She sang sweetly, “Still staying silent?”

The man looked away, spat out a glob of blood, and between pants of fresh air, muttered under his breath, “I won’t be the last one…”

“Aww, how cute.” She cooed, “Let me help you spit a bit more easily. I’m sure the blood doesn’t taste good.” Reaching up, she took hold of his bottom two incisors and pinched them, knife at his groin so he didn’t try anything, and slowly pulled the two teeth from his jaw. “Wrong. Answer. Snark isn’t endearing, remember that. Now, let’s try again, shall we? Why are you here? Why did you shoot Lucania? Who are you? And who’s your boss?”

The man couldn’t even yell anymore, he was rapidly losing blood. He let out a pained groan, and spat out another glob of blood, “God damnit! Fuck! Shit!” His head hung limply as he tried to recollect himself from all the… pain. “I’m too fuckin’ high for you, cunt! You can’t bring me down worth a Goddamn!” He spat, putting emphasis on the word ‘God,’ “It’s not like I’ll get out of this alive anyway! What do I care if you get off a’ being a fucking dom?”

“You care,” she hummed as she traced a thin, shallow line down his face with the knife, starting at the tear duct, “because the sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner the pain stops. Otherwise I will make this last hours. I grew up around industrial accidents, I know how to keep someone awake through trauma. Now, let’s start again. Why. Are. You. Here?” She punctuated each word by digging the knife a little deeper into his skin, almost cutting a hole in his cheek. Well, maybe if she’d cut a bit deeper he’d have another hole for the blood to drain from. “This only lasts as long as you want it to. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll give you a quick death, drag it out more and, well, I’ve always wondered what someone does if you jam septic spikes up their fingernails, among many other things. But of course, if you tell me why you’re here or why you decided to shoot her, that doesn’t have to happen.”

“[i][b]FUUUUUUUUUUCCKKKK[/i][/b].” The man’s discordant howls became slurred as the blood filled his mouth. Before, his intensity was comparable to Hell itself, now, he was more like a kicked puppy. Broken, and broken again. He was struggling to breath, his own blood was filling his lungs, and his lower half felt cold. “I-I was hired by.. by… some guy… Paolo… I don’t know who the fuck he was! I just know he promised more money than… than I’d ever see in 9 fuckin’ lives… and I know your fucking cunt boss had it comin’.”

“Good boy.” Vladimira muttered simply, giving him a rap to the temple and letting him crumple into an unconscious heap. She leaned down to check his breathing and feel his pulse- it was there, but weak, she’d have to act fast if she wanted to get any more information out of him later- then she could kill him. She didn’t have much more gauze, but she figured what she did have would be enough to staunch the bleeding in his legs. Wrapping that tightly around the few wounds in his legs, she turned back to the missing finger and other cuts. A bit of rummaging brought another somewhat clean shirt that she had no real attachment to. Guess I’ve got some more bandages.

Her little bottle of rubbing alcohol was starting to run low, but she added a bit to the shirt to kill whatever was undoubtedly growing on it, then ripped the garment into strips, tying a crude tourniquet around the knuckle of the finger she’d removed, and strapping more to his cheek with some extra to absorb the blood. His teeth she couldn’t do much about, but that seemed to be all.

She surveyed her handiwork, muttering to herself, “Now to drag this… thing, back I guess. Might have to keep that coat though.”

Archie and Cyrus juggled their swords back and forth in front of the growing crowd, full of laughing children, men and women just getting off work, and even a few Wings. After half an hour of performing, their donation bucket was about three quarters of the way full with bullets, but the two brothers were exhausted. They had about ten minutes left to go in their routine, but were almost relieved when a frantic Wings officer interrupted it. He was clearly a newer recruit, green and pale-faced, but still clad in a well maintained – perhaps neurotically maintained – uniform.

“Hollow horde! A hollow horde is heading towards the city!” he screamed, attempting to disperse the crowd, “A massive, spider horde! It’s important that you all rema--”

Before the Wing could finish, the people began running and screaming, bumping into one another. Children cried out for their parents, parents shielded their children with their bodies, and in the middle of it all were the Maryson Brothers, confused, annoyed, and wondering how in the hell the soldier could have handled this so poorly.

Archie Maryson reached into his trailer and pulled out the shotgun he had taken from the Forsaken earlier, then fired it into the air. “OI!” he screamed, “CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” The crowd stopped, frozen in tableau at the sound of Archie’s boomstick and booming voice.

“Is this how the citizens of Russel City respond to crisis?!” Cyrus hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on, but attempting to placate the masses was one of his specialties. This wasn’t the first horde he’d seen, though: the brothers had made some narrow escapes from smaller ones in the past, though any swarm that could pose a serious threat to Russel was probably rather massive. “Let the boy speak!”

The Wing cleared his throat. “Not far from here… a big, just… massive horde of spider-like creatures, heading this way. We’ve, um--…” He paused, clearing his throat, “We’ve received orders to try and evacuate the… the city…” The boy froze up, looking rather nervous at the prospect of public speaking.

“Uh… well, then… I guess some handle crisis better than others,” Cyrus mused aloud, “But I’m sure most of you can handle it better than this poor boy! Look around, friends,” he proclaimed. He had learned a bit about them during his performance, asking miscellaneous personal questions (mostly to the more attractive and seducible-looking members of the audience, of course) to add a bit of warmness to his and Archie’s act. Make the audience feel like you love them, and in return, they will love you. That was something his mother had said once, if he recalled correctly.

“Please, people, we must remain calm in situations such as these,” Cyrus continued, “I’m sure the Wings have everything under control.”

The audience looked to the green recruit, who seemed as though he was about to wet himself in fear.

“… Okay, so maybe not the Wings, but what’s to stop the good people of Russel from protecting themselves? You all look capable enough!” Cyrus glanced around for a few seconds before laying eyes on a large piece of sheet metal. “That there! That’d be a phenomenal barricade, no? Panicking will save nobody; either evacuate the city, or fortify your homes and prepare to fight off an invasion!” The speech wasn’t an especially spectacular one, with very little enthusiastic screaming or battle cries, but the audience members nodded to one another and began searching for materials. Many returned to their homes, shutting themselves in with their guns behind reinforced doors. Others gathered their things and began to

“Eh, that could’ve gone worse,” Archie said, patting Cyrus on the back. He reloaded his shotgun using shells from the donation bucket and glanced to the Wings recruit, who was still quaking in his boots. “Something tells me the Wings may not be able to handle this on their own… morale seems low, to say the least.”

Cyrus picked up the donation bucket and began to pack up the props, costumes and staging pieces he’d used during their performance, shoving them back into the van one by one. “You can say that again. Wish there was something we could do.”

“Look, Cy, I do too, but our only priority right now is getting the fuck out of here,” Archie said, “And... well, there’s a few people we’re taking with us.”

“Well no shit,” Cyrus replied, “The day I leave Rico to die in a swarm is the day you can just feel free to just go ahead and shoot me.”

====

“Aiai!” Rico screamed, standing in the doorway of his rickety old house, “Aiai! Please, come back! Your grandpapi is worried about you!” Though nearing seventy years old, he was spry for someone his age, and the cane he carried with him was nothing but a clever disguise for the thin sword he always kept at hand. In these parts, never know who might try to start something.

“Grandpapi!” Aiai came running down the street, far too optimistic and excited-sounding for someone in a city about to be overrun by a horde. Rico felt bad for the girl; she was far too pure and innocent for this world. Aiai’s mother was doing her absolute best to raise her right, but she had developed a drinking problem, and her father - Rico’s older son - often got himself involved with gang activity. “Miss Castilian said she was gonna throw a party and save us from the horde!”

“Miss what?”

“Lucia Casti--... Cats... Castalia!” Aiai smiled proudly, having finally remembered the name.

Rico crouched down and looked deep into her big, beady eyes. “... The Castalia family? The--... Lucania Castalia? Bloody Sleeves?”

“Yeah! Did you know, that stuff mommy drinks... Lucia says there’s vodka-people called ‘Russians’.”

Rico put a hand over his forehead and sighed. A smile spread across his old, wrinkled face in spite of the terrible situation that was unfolding around them. “Never grow up, Aiai.”

“We have to go to the Bi--... uhm... the Brew place!” Aiai corrected herself, barely avoiding using the dirty word, “Miss Castalia said so!”

“Aiai,” Rico said solemnly, “People like the Castalias... like Bloody Sleeves... they like to lie. They’ll tell nice lies to people, pretend to be your friend, but the moment you do something they don’t like, they’ll turn on you. They’re criminals: they use good, honest folk like us, then discard them like trash. They’re like little kids in a way; if they don’t get what they want, they’ll throw a big tantrum. Of course, when a grown-up throws a tantrum, a lot of people get hurt.”

Aiai frowned. “But... but... she said the Brew bar was fortified... and they have fortified safe rooms... We have to go, grandpapi!”

“Safe-rooms, eh?” Rico looked around, scratching the back of his head. “Honestly? I’d rather take my chances with the mafia than a swarm.”

It was then that the massive, Maryson truck and trailer came screeching down the street. It skidded to a stop fifty-or-so meters from Rico’s door, with many slum-dwellers yelling at the vehicle to be more careful or presenting rude gestures. When the brothers exited their vehicle, some of the jeers stopped, and as they recognized the charismatic performers from before, the middle fingers and shaking fists turned into friendly waves. “Rico!” Archie proclaimed as he exited his truck. He ran over to his father and embraced him heartily. Several seconds later, he let go, keeping his hands firmly on Rico’s shoulders. “It has been a year, no? Two?”

“A year and a half, my son,” Rico said, “Why don’t you visit more often?! I won’t be around for much longer, you know!”

Archie chuckled. “You’ve been saying that for ten years, yet you’re still here.”

“I’m too stubborn to die yet, my boy!” Proclaimed Rico, breaking free of his son’s grip, “Have you met your niece, Aiai?”

“... Niece?” Archie asked, looking down at the little girl, “I--... hello there, Aiai!”

Aiai said nothing, but looked down at her feet, a small, shy smirk on her face.

“... Cat got your tongue?”

She shook her head adorably, as if she could do anything in a way that wasn’t adorable.

“... Am I your only uncle?”

She nodded, her big, beady eyes meeting Archie’s. “Hello, Uncle Archie!”

Archie smiled and gave her a pat on the head. Aiai had an almost inhuman way of melting your heart instantly.

“Eh, sorry to interrupt the family reunion,” Cyrus began, “But--”

“Cyrus! You’re as much a part o’ this family as Archie is, haven’t I told you that before?” Rico gestured for Cyrus to come over and join them, pulling him in for a quick embrace.

“We’ve come to help you guys evacuate,” Cyrus added without skipping a beat, “There’s probably enough space in the truck for another six-or-so people to sit, if we stop and camp out to sleep. We can make it to Serenity until this whole thing blows over, but I’m not sure what’s gonna happen after--”

Cyrus was cut off by the adorable little Aiai. “Don’t worry, Mister Cyrus, the Castalia lady said she had safe-houses at the Brew Bar!”

“Where have I heard that name before...?” Cyrus asked himself, silently racking his brain, “The Castalia Mafia?! How did a ten-year-old come into contact with the mafia?!”

Aiai scowled. “Don’t be so loud, Cyrus. We’re right here.”

“I don’t like the idea of hiding out with the mob either, Cyrus,” Rico added, “But I’d rather take my chances with the mob than with a bunch of hallow-spiders. We’re going to the Bitches’ Brew,” Aiai covered her ears and closed her eyes to keep out the bad words, “and I suggest you come with us.”

Cyrus sighed. “That’s a bad idea. I don’t wanna be around in the aftermath of this, when--” And that was when Cyrus looked down at Aiai’s tearful face, on the verge of breaking down crying. This devious little girl knows how to manipulate a man’s emotions like a wad of clay. But I won’t fall for those adorable little eyes, or that little pouty face, or that--- “Fine, we’ll come to the Bitches’ Brew.”

God damn it.

It took them about twenty minutes to round up Aiai’s parents, park their vehicle in a safe garage until the swarm had passed, and get to the Bitches’ Brew. Cyrus, feeling defeated, sat down at the bar and ordered a shot of strong liquor. “Heard any rumours lately, barkeep?”