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. [i]Make the audience feel like you love them, and in return, they will love you.[/i] 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. [i]In these parts, never know who might try to start something.[/i]

“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. [i]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---[/i] “Fine, we’ll come to the Bitches’ Brew.”

[i]God damn it.[/i]

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?”